Chapter 3

I pull the sweater out from under his shoe.

"These are my clothes, Noah."

"Daddy bought them."

"Some of them."

"He pays for everything."

The words come out quickly, as though he's practiced them.

I look at him.

He's four.

There's a small stain on his shirt, just below the collar. Strawberry yogurt, probably.

He still needs help washing his hair.

But he's standing over me, explaining why I don't own the clothes I wear.

"I'm taking this," I say, holding the little bundle against my palm. "You can leave the rest for now."

"No."

He moves in front of the door and spreads his arms.

"You can't take Daddy's stuff."

"This belonged to my mother."

"Aunt Vanessa said you'd say that."

I stare at him.

"She said you're not supposed to come back."

"I came to collect my things."

"She said if you take anything, you're stealing."

His voice rises on the last word.

He wants someone to hear.

I used to know what to do when he got like this.

Kneel down. Speak softly. Offer two choices.

Do you want to put your shoes on yourself, or should Mommy help?

Then I started having to ask Vanessa before I could put his shoes on at all.

"Noah, move, please."

He shakes his head.

I stand.

He grabs for the bundle.

"No."

His fingers close around one corner of the cloth.

I pull my hand back without thinking.

The fabric opens.

The pendant slips between us.

There's a sharp crack against the concrete floor.

Neither of us moves.

Then I kneel.

The silver frame has twisted.

One half of a painted flower lies beside the shelf. Another piece has landed under Noah's shoe.

"Step back."

He looks at my face and does.

I collect the pieces.

My mother wore this pendant in the photograph on my dresser when I was little.

Whenever she leaned over to kiss me goodnight, it swung forward, and I'd catch it in my hand.

On my wedding morning, she fastened it around my neck.

"Your grandmother wore it when she got married, too."

"What if I lose it?"

"Then I'll be very annoyed."

She smiled when she said it.

Then she touched my cheek.

"One day, you can give it to someone you love."

I stare at the broken porcelain in my palm.

Noah shifts beside me.

"You shouldn't have pulled."

I close my eyes.

"It belonged to Grandma."

He says nothing.

"I told you that."

"You wouldn't let go."

My hand starts to shake.

I put the fragments on the red cloth before I drop them.

"Do you know why Grandma's still in the hospital?"

"She's not in the hospital."

"The rehabilitation center. Do you know why she's there?"

He shrugs.

I think of my mother learning to stand again.

The bars on either side of her.

The therapist counting.

One more step, Margaret.

One more.

I think of Noah's first birthday, when she insisted on joining the video call from her bed.

Her hair was brushed. She had lipstick on.

She didn't want to scare him.

"Noah."

He kicks at a loose strip of cardboard.

"I don't know her."

"Yes, you do."

He looks up, irritated now.

"Aunt Vanessa says she's just some old lady wasting Daddy's money."