"What did you do to him, Richard?"
Julian's voice is low, but it fills the nursery harder than a shout. He is still staring at the hospital tag in my hand.
Baby Boy Cross. His birth date, His whole life turned into one dirty little strip of paper.
Richard does not answer him at once. He just watches Julian the way he watches everything: calm on the outside, cruel underneath. Evelyn steps forward before he can speak. "I found that tag when Julian was eight months old," she says.
Julian turns to her so fast it almost hurts to watch. "And you said nothing." Her face tightens. "I said too little. Not nothing." "That is not better." No one tries to stop him. Not even me. The room smells like dust and old rain. The floor is cold under my knees. The metal box sits open between us like a mouth
