chin.
My grandmother June’s face from every old Dayton family photograph, suddenly three feet tall and asking who was at the door.
Danny made a sound like the air had been knocked out of him.
Then his eyes moved past her.
Down the hallway.
Toward the wall I barely noticed anymore.
Caleb’s photograph, funeral ribbon still folded over one corner.
The ultrasound framed beside it.
A photo Dena had taken of me eight months pregnant, standing alone in front of a half-painted blue door with a roller in my hand.
