Justice was a cold, bitter substitute for love, but it was the only thing left that I could give them.
I walked down the quiet hallway to the front entrance.
I knelt on the floor beside the wooden bench.
I reached out and gently straightened Noah’s tiny blue sneakers, aligning them neatly against the wall.
Then I smoothed down the sleeve of Lily’s yellow rain jacket, letting my fingers linger on the soft fabric.
“I took care of it,” I whispered into the quiet house.
“I took care of everything.”
Outside, the snow began to fall in heavy, quiet blankets, covering the tire tracks in the driveway, smoothing over the frozen earth, and burying the world in a clean, uninterrupted white.
For the first time in six months, I walked into the kitchen, turned off the overhead lights, and let myself breathe.
