I turned it over in my hand, feeling the cold weight of the metal.
Engraved in thin, elegant script on the side was the name Miller.
My maiden name was Vance, and Ethan’s family was named Miller, but his mother had always told me they had no family heirlooms left after the bank took their house in ninety-two.
I stood up, holding the rattle, and looked at the sleeping face of my youngest son.
If this belonged to Ethan’s family, it had been hidden behind the crib for a purpose.
I placed the rattle inside the blue plastic bin under the changing table, beneath the stack of extra sheets, where no one else would look.
The silver pen was still missing from the study desk, and I knew Ethan had not been looking for a notebook when he left it in here.
I sat in the heavy wooden rocking chair, my hand resting on the armrest, and waited for the morning light.
