Chapter 11 - THE HOUSE WE ABANDONED
The house had not changed.
We had.
Sophie stood in the entryway for a long time.
Her hand rested against the wall.
“Smells dusty.”
“I can clean.”
“No.”
“I can hire someone.”
“No.”
“I can—”
She looked at me.
“Ethan.”
“Right.”
I carried her bag upstairs.
Not into our old bedroom.
Into the guest room.
That hurt.
Good.
Some pain was honest.
That night, I made chicken soup.
It was terrible.
Sophie ate half a bowl.
“You put rosemary in this?”
“I found it.”
“That is not a reason.”
“I panicked again.”
She smiled.
Later, I heard her moving.
I found her standing outside the nursery.
The room was still white.
She opened the door.
Inside, the closet held a small blue box.
The box.
I stopped.
“You told me not to open it.”
“I know.”
She sat on the floor.
I sat several feet away.
She opened it herself.
Two hospital bracelets.
Two ultrasound photographs.
A tiny pair of yellow socks.
Three letters.
One for each baby.
My vision blurred.
“I wrote them because I didn’t know where else to put everything.”
She handed me the first letter.
I did not read it.
“Why not?”
“They’re yours.”
“They were ours.”
That sentence undid me.
We read them together.
Not all at once.
We stopped often.
Sometimes neither of us could speak.
At the bottom was one more envelope.
My name.
“I wrote that after the third loss.”
I looked at her.
“Do you want me to read it?”
She nodded.
The first line said:
I DON’T NEED YOU TO BE STRONG, ETHAN. I NEED YOU TO BE HERE.
I lowered the paper.
Sophie was watching me.
“I’m here.”
“I know.”
Then someone knocked downstairs.
Three hard knocks.
I opened the door.
A uniformed Army courier stood on the porch.
He handed me an official envelope.
May you like
Orders.
