“Who?” you snapped.
Helen did not answer immediately. She stepped deeper into the room instead, moving slowly between the two cribs as if she were entering a church after years away. Peter stared up at her without crying. Paul had one fist still clenched by his cheek, his mouth trembling around the ghost of a sob, but no sound came out. Both boys tracked her with the same fixed, eerie focus that had terrified everyone else.
Helen looked toward the rocking chair by the window.
Your wife’s rocking chair.
No one had sat in it since the night she died.
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