can’t make decisions like this without talking to us.”
That made me laugh once, quietly, inside a small apartment they did not know existed.
My suitcase rested beside the door.
Richard’s old photograph stood on the counter.
Because I had spoken to them for ten years.
They simply had not listened.
And when they finally opened the last envelope my attorney had left waiting for all three of them, the room became so silent that even Laura stopped breathing as though she owned the air.
Because the first page was
