“They’re drawings. Of you and her and the dogs. Of you and me at the stove while she watches us make dinner. Of you playing hockey,” Madeline explains as I flip through the pages, and my chest feels impossibly tight. My throat closes up, my eyes blur with tears. A drop of water falls on the corner of the paper and makes the marker bleed. Lucy touches my cheek and tilts my head to look at her. She starts to sign, and I keep my eyes on her.
