A Place to Hang the Moon

by Kate Albus

The children followed a sign pointing them to LITERATURE AND FICTION, then another to CHILDREN’S BOOKS. And they were home. William, Edmund, and Anna knew, somewhere deep in the place where we know things that we cannot say aloud, that they had never lived in the sort of home one reads about in stories—one of warmth and affection and certainty in the knowledge that someone believes you hung the moon.

Anna might not have known what to say, but she knew what to do. Which is often the more important thing, as it turns out.