“No, Mommy, please don’t.”
“Baby, why not?”
His eyes were already filling up. He clutched at my sleeve.
“Please. Please don’t look.”
I lifted him gently and set him on the floor. Then, I peeled back the fitted sheet and raised the mattress.
They were arranged in perfect rows.
Dozens and dozens of them, more than I could count at a glance.
Silver tines pointing in the same direction, handles lined up like little soldiers waiting for orders, and laid out with a kind of care that made my throat close.
Alex burst into tears behind me.
“Please don’t take them away, Mommy. Please.”
“Baby, calm down. Why shouldn’t I take them away?”
“I need them. Me and Daddy need them.”
I turned around slowly.
He was standing there in his dinosaur pajamas, snot running down his lip, hands stretched out toward the bed like I was about to steal something sacred.
