Noah took one side of the box, his small fingers gripping the cardboard.
“Can we play soccer tomorrow?” he asked, his voice breathless and hopeful. “The coach says I need to work on my passing before the Saturday game.”
“We can practice in the backyard after school,” I said. “Just you and me.”
“Mom said you might be too busy with your new chores,” Noah said, his eyes scanning my face.
“I am never too busy for you, Noah,” I said.
We carried the box up the back steps together, our boots clicking on the concrete. The weight of the cardboard felt real, a physical anchor to the life I was leaving behind.
At nine o’clock, I was sitting on the edge of the twin bed in the guest room. The room smelled of old cedar and dust. The window was small and let in a steady draft from the driveway below.
A sharp knock sounded on the hollow wood door.
Vanessa stepped inside without waiting for me to answer. She was holding a yellow sheet of paper, her fingernails tapping against the edge of the page.
