The blue tape broke me first. Not the words on the paper, not the thirty days stamped in black like a countdown to exile, but the fact that my son had chosen painter’s tape so the doorframe wouldn’t chip. That small, careful kindness wrapped around the ugliest betrayal of my life. I stood there with dirt under my nails and tomatoes in my bag and felt the world tip, slowly, as if the floorboards of my own hallway were giving wa… Continues…
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