“Sandra!” she shouts. “Can you bring the picture album from my bedroom down here, please? And a box of Kleenex, too.”

Debbie looks to the ground as she rubs my back softly. This close to her, I can see she’s not wearing any makeup. This is essentially an unheard-of state for Mrs. Austin. Even when we were in the hospital with Decker on life support, I caught glimpses of her touching up her lip liner with the mirror of a pressed powder compact. Of course, she is vain, but in that moment, I want to believe it was just a nervous habit of hers—like she didn’t actually care if her lips weren’t the perfect shade of red when her son lay dying just a few feet away. But today, she’s gone au naturel.

“Here you go, Mrs. Austin,” Sandra says, plopping down a large photobook not unlike a wedding album.

“Thank you. Here, Charlotte. Why don’t you have a look at some of these photos and help yourself to a tissue or two? I’m going to get some tea started.”

Somehow my trembling fingers are able to open the book. I see photos of Aiden over the years. As I turn the pages, some include Debbie and Kurt pictured with him. A few pages later, even Gemma makes an appearance, back before her hair was as bleached as it is now. I eventually get to another angle of the Superman/Clark Kent photo with Brian that actually appears to have been taken in the front foyer of this very house. I’ve been here a hundred times. How the hell did I miss that detail?

As I go through more photos, I finally land on one with an uncanny, indisputable resemblance to Decker.

“Hi,” I catch myself whispering as I brush my fingertips over the protective plastic.

The photo is of Aiden hanging upside down from a set of monkey bars. The same one on Gemma’s Instagram, but this version is taken from the front. His sandy-blond hair looks like a lion’s mane and he’s smiling with the brightest, biggest blue eyes. Suddenly, I feel myself smiling, too. Decker still exists in this world, just in a different form, a different body. This is...crazy.

“He’s a cutie, right?” Debbie says with a smile as she brings two cups of tea into frame. “Do you want me to call him in here?”

I know she’s not trying to spring a full-on meet and greet right here, right now. Instead, she’s offering me a plain view, something greater than any of the photos in this book. From where I sit, I can see him. Frolicking, laughing, splashing. From where I sit, I get it. This is Decker’s son. He’s every bit as beautiful as I thought he would be. But right now, I don’t need more of Aiden. I thought maybe I wanted that when I got here, but I don’t. I know he’s not going anywhere. This family won’t let that happen. So when the time is right—if the time is ever right—I’ll know what to do.