EMMALINE
I don’t remember walking here.
One moment I was in our bedroom, staring at the wall.
The next, I’m standing in the doorway of Liam’s room.
The room is exactly as he left it this morning.
His bed is unmade, the dinosaur sheets tangled at the foot of the mattress. His toy cars are scattered across the floor in some elaborate race track formation only he understands.
The bookshelf is half-empty because he insists on keeping his favorite stories piled on his nightstand so they’re close when he sleeps.
Everything is exactly as it should be.
Except he’s not here.
My legs carry me forward without conscious thought.
I sink down onto the floor beside his toy chest, my fingers reaching for the stuffed wolf sitting on top.
Alexander gave it to him on his first birthday.
Liam nev
