else to do.
He offered a stuffed giraffe to a broken bottle, in a corridor, while the four adults responsible for his entire life stood over him being the worst versions of themselves in public.
Bernadine saw it too. She mentioned it, months later, without my bringing it up.
And that is the image I have instead of the one everybody wants, which is my ex-husband’s face when the lift opened.
I can barely remember his face.
I can remember a child holding out a toy to a puddle of
