Downstairs, Rachel was already in the kitchen in yesterday's cardigan over a different shirt, Oliver in a bouncer near the counter, Daniel pouring coffee with the stiff courtesy of a man hosting his own life. The smell of batter and blueberries filled the bright space. Portraits watched from the family room. Suitcases still waited by the door; Laura realized she had not moved hers upstairs.
"Good morning," Rachel said. Not bright. Careful. "Coffee's fresh. I can make myself scarce if you want the kitchen."
"Stay," Laura said, surprising herself. "I said we would talk. We might as well start with carbohydrates."
They ate at the table where Laura had once helped Ethan with homework and Daniel had once carved a Halloween pumpkin so badly it looked cursed. Oliver fussily accepted a bottle from Rachel. Ethan narrated school gossip with the urgency of someone restoring normalcy by force. Daniel said little. His hazel eyes tracked Laura the way they had in early marriage, when every mood of hers felt like weather he needed to forecast.
After Ethan left for the bus—backpack bouncing, a kiss for Laura that smelled like syrup—the three adults remained.
Laura folded her hands. "Show me the papers."
Daniel retrieved a folder from the drawer beneath the coffee table, the same drawer that used to hold takeout menus. Inside: a will excerpt naming Daniel J. Harper as guardian of Oliver Ellison; temporary emergency custody orders dated mid-June; a more permanent guardianship order from August; death certificates she did not want to touch; a letter from a social worker with a Baltimore address; Rachel's own affidavit supporting Daniel's petition while requesting visitation and co-residence "for the infant's bonding continuity."
Laura read until the legal language blurred. "Co-residence," she said. "You petitioned to live here."