She removed small, neatly wrapped packages. A pair of hand-knit blue sweaters with the boys’ names embroidered across the front, and two stuffed elephants.
Then she took out a camera.
She positioned it carefully near the crib and whispered, “Just one picture for Nana.”
Nana. The word hung in the air.
Then she took out a camera.
I turned slowly toward Mark. “Do you know her?”
He kept his eyes on the road.
“Mark,” I pressed, my voice trembling. “You know her, don’t you?”
“She’s my mother,” he said finally.
“You told me she was a monster!”
“I told you we didn’t have a relationship.”
“You said she wasn’t safe.”
“You know her, don’t you?”
“I said she wasn’t part of my life,” he snapped.
“That’s not the same thing.”
He exhaled sharply but didn’t argue.
When we pulled into the driveway, I pushed the door open before the car had fully stopped. We found Mrs. Higgins, or whoever she was, sitting calmly on the couch, holding Noah against her chest.
Liam slept in the crib. The house was peaceful.
Mrs. Higgins looked up when we burst inside.
“Mark,” she said softly.