His Deal, My Son's Death

car was a physical presence. I needed to pack. I needed to get Leo' s things, his drawings, his clot

art aching at the familiar sights and smells. Leo' s small sneakers were still by the do

om first. But then I heard it. A sound from the master bedroom

od ran

my bed. While our son' s ash

ch sound was a fresh stab of betrayal. I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching the box to my chest, trying to block it out. I should have turned

ld have been minutes or an hour.

Reed was behind him, wrapped in one of my silk robes. She saw me

d, her voice smooth and condescending. "I thou

annoyance, as if I were a piece of furniture that was

t to her. He didn' t even acknowledge the box in my

y broken up about the kid, as you can see. Honestly, Olivia, it' s f

amily, and felt a surge of pure, unadulterated hatred. But

o' s room. Ethan was in the kitchen, and as I passed th

ice casual. "Some kind of sentime

him, my grip on the box so t

said, my voice

ed and took a

Leo' s room. I gently placed the box on his n

box. "I' m so sorry you have to see this

holding a memory. The blue one he wore to the zoo. The red one he got paint on. I gathered his art s

watercolor paper. He had started to paint a sunset, a brilliant explosion of orange,

what b

ed painting to my chest, and sobbed. I cried for my son, for his stolen future, for all the sunsets

idn' t care. Let them hear it. Let th

things. I packed a small bag for myself. Then I went to Ethan' s study, took a set of divorce papers out of my purse-paper

k around the room that held so many memories, a