I lifted it to my face and breathed in, quick, before I could stop myself.
« Mommy, are you crying again? »
Leo stood in the doorway in mismatched socks, one blue, one striped, holding a juice box like a trophy.
« No, baby. Just smelling Grandma. »
« Grandma smells like flowers. »
« She does. »
He padded in and climbed onto the bed, and I noticed it again. A smudge of silver paint on the side of his thumb, dried and flaking, and another streak crusted along his elbow that I could have sworn wasn’t there when I’d bathed him last night.
« Leo, what is this? »
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