Dad was directing two delivery men as they hauled something into the living room.
They pried open the massive crate. Inside was an imported grand piano.
Walnut finish. Ninety-eight thousand dollars.
Harry shrieked and threw himself at the keys, hammering out a storm of ear-splitting noise that filled the entire apartment.
Mom crouched down beside him, her face melting with adoration as she wiped his hands.
"Gently, sweetheart. Don't hurt your fingers."
Dad was off to the side, tearing open another package. He pulled out a box of cough syrup and a rechargeable hand warmer.
The cheapest kind available. Ten bucks with free shipping.
"Put these by her door later."
He set them on the shoe rack without a second glance.
"If she's willing to sign and come out, she can have them."
Harry suddenly stopped playing. He tilted his head and stared at my bedroom door.
"Mommy, sissy's room doesn't even have any air getting in. Won't she get all cooked like a piece of meat?"
Mom peeled an orange segment and popped it into his mouth.
"Don't be silly. Your sister's in there meditating and reflecting on her behavior. Once she's done being sorry, she'll come out on her own."
Harry chewed the orange, mumbling through a full mouth:
"Then how come she hasn't made a single sound?"
"Being stubborn, as usual."
Terence didn't even look up. He was busy hanging a banner on the wall.
The banner was a gift from Maplewood Orphanage, embroidered with four gilded words: Boundless Love.
He stepped back two paces, admired it with satisfaction, then pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.
The living room was a picture of warmth and prosperity: the grand piano, the commendation banner, brand-new space heaters.
Harrison was draped over the piano bench, grinning ear to ear.
On the other side of the wall, in the second bedroom, the air had grown so foul that not even a fly could survive in it.
The curled-up body inside was coated in a layer of black grime. In that sealed, windowless space, her body temperature was dropping, degree by degree.
No one knew. No one wanted to know.
The next morning, my mother was up before dawn for the first time in memory.
Not for me.
Director Cara Finch from Maplewood Orphanage was coming for a home visit. It was the first annual check-in since the adoption.
Mom had been cooking since five a.m. The dining table was buried under a feast fit for a holiday spread.