in the deepest part of her.
She looked around the room. At the laundry basket of baby clothes. At the tree with its mismatched ornaments. At the tiny stocking on the mantel. At the quiet home she had built out of the ruins of our marriage.
Then she looked at me holding our son.
“What about my things?” she asked softly.
“We’ll pack what Noah needs,” I said.continue reading …
