I shove open each door on the second-floor corridor. Closet, half-bathroom, closet—
This one used to be Kirill’s bedroom.
A race car bed is parked in one corner, buried under a decade and a half of dust. Superman posters are flopping from where they were once tacked to the walls. Sunlight sneaking through the gaps in the blinds has leached the colors from the paint. Action figures stand mid-battle on the dresser, locked in a war that will never end. Above the bed, a mobile of planets hangs motionless. Their universe has stopped turning.
I brace one hand against the door frame as I struggle to breathe.
I haven’t set foot in this room in eighteen years.
The past rushes up like blunt force trauma to the throat. I can hear Elena’s voice, singing Kir to sleep. His small hand reaching for
