Chapter 7
I stared at the first Father’s Day card Lily made for me. The handwriting was little more than a scrawl, with a mish mash of triangles for our house and lines and circles indicating us. She’d been terribly proud of this first gift and I couldn’t have cherished it more. Every Father’s Day she made me something. Her artistic abilities evolved each year until her most recent teacher confided she believed Lily had a flair for art. After Lily had been taken, I hung all of her art in my bedroom, lining The Father’s Day cards chronologically on my chest of drawers. Today there would be no card. I caught sight of myself in the mirror hanging above the dresser. What if she didn’t come back? Carefully, I opened the top drawer and slid the cards inside. I went to the nightstand and picked
