I placed the letter in the evidence box.
Then I went outside and watched my children ride bicycles in the fading gold of evening.
Noah raced ahead, shouting that speed limits were suggestions.
Ethan objected that laws were not decorative.
Sophia rode one-handed because she was trying to read a book, which I stopped immediately.
Olivia decorated her handlebars with ribbons that streamed like wings.
They were not erased.
They were not hidden.
They were not complications.
They were thunder in sneakers.
A month later, Margaret came to Austin for Easter.
She brought no gifts this time except one.
A small wooden box.
Inside were four silver baby bracelets.
I recognized them.
Hospital bracelets.
Noah Daniel Reynolds.
Ethan James Reynolds.
Sophia Marie Reynolds.
Olivia Grace Reynolds.
My breath vanished.
“Where did you get these?”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“Thomas Greer kept them. He said Victor ordered everything burned, but he couldn’t destroy these. He sent them to me before he died.”
