« We don’t need that. »
4-screws held the narrow access panel in place. I unscrewed them, and the panel came off in my hand, easy as a lid. I was hoping to find the shutoff valve.
Instead, something slid out and landed at my feet: a thick white envelope.
It had been placed inside a recess along the back of the tank’s metal sheet housing. It was the kind of blind pocket you’d only reach while draining the thing or replacing the anode rod.
Something slid out.
I sat down on the floor and opened it.
Twelve ultrasound photographs slid into my lap!
I didn’t understand at first. I turned one over. A date from four years ago, in Michael’s blocky handwriting. Another from three years ago.
The last one was the most recent and had a tiny inked heart in the corner.
They showed different stages of pregnancy, with dates spanning almost four years. Some had handwritten numbers on the backs.
