No light in the windows. No sound of a television or music, or the particular domestic noise of a home with two new infants in it.
I remember thinking nothing could ruin that moment.
I stood at the door with the flowers in one hand and the sweaters tucked under my arm.
Then I slowly pushed the door open.
“Mara? Mom? Guys… I’m back…”
The walls were bare. The furniture was gone. Every surface we had built our home on had been cleared away, and the rooms I had memorized from a photograph were now just empty rooms.
Then I heard crying from upstairs.
I moved up the stairs as fast as I could manage, pain shooting through my prosthetic with every step.
The door to the nursery was open.
Then I heard crying from upstairs.
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