hadn’t found the child.
I should have known what would happen next.
A week later, it knocked.
The boys and I lived in another house by then.
Nothing grand.
A small place at the end of a quiet street.
Three bedrooms.
A yard.
A porch.
And it was on that porch that everything came back around.
Saturday afternoon.
Early summer.
The boys were outside.
Someone knocked on my door.
I opened it.
They were all standing there.
My mother in her good coat.
My father behind her with his hands
