Dr. Patel’s office, where the chairs were soft and the shelves held wooden puzzles, puppets, and smooth stones in a bowl. Sunlight came through gauzy curtains, painting the carpet in warm rectangles.
Lily sat between me and Nathan on the couch.
Owen sat on the floor with Captain in his lap, knees tucked under his chin.
Maya sat near the door. Ms. Paula waited outside.
Dr. Patel began with the photograph.
A copy, not the original.
She placed it on the low table.
Lily stared at it.
Owen leaned forward.
“This picture shows your mom,” Dr. Patel said gently. “And it looks like it was taken more recently than people first thought.”
Lily’s fingers curled into the hem of her sweater. “So she didn’t die when we were babies.”
“We don’t have all the answers yet,” Dr. Patel said. “But we do know that what you were told before may
