The rest of the afternoon I spend in the bedroom thinking about everything Sarah told me. Then I do perhaps the scariest thing of all and put myself in Paula’s shoes. And it’s even worse than I could possibly imagine.

I approach Paula and Craig’s bedroom after dinner. Paula is on the deck, staring out into the distance with a glass of wine in her hand. I loudly knock on the door so she can hear me.

When she sees it’s me, a sad smile creeps on her face. “Come in. You can always come in. This is your home now.”

I sit down on the chair next to her. We haven’t really spoken since the disaster that was this morning.

“I was going to bring you this.” She gestures to an open box at her feet.

I pull it over to me. As I look inside, I see several small teddy bears, a night-light with balloons, and some other trinkets. I pick up a silver frame that has a picture of a baby fast asleep on a cozy white rug. Her chin is resting on her hands; she’s wearing nothing but a diaper and a tiny pink headband with a giant flower attached.

“You slept through the entire photo shoot,” Paula comments before taking a large sip of wine. “The photographer said he’d never seen such a peaceful baby.”

I stare at this baby, searching for clues in her face that it’s me. Truthfully, I’ve always thought all babies look somewhat alike.

One by one, I take out each teddy bear. They’re smaller than Snuggles, who remains on a shelf in the closet. At first, I was going to place him on the dresser, but he’s a reminder of a past that I can’t seem to grasp.

This whole box is one giant blank space for me.

“Your room was decorated with teddy bears,” Paula says in a small voice. “I have a picture somewhere of you even dressed up as one for your first Halloween.”

But to Paula, this box is yet another giant reminder of all that was left behind.

I close the box. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize for your father,” she says as she rubs her tired eyes.

That’s true, but all I seem to be doing lately is apologizing. It’s not my fault, but somehow I feel it is. Not the disappearing, but the reappearing and not being grateful for it.

“It’s not about what he did, it’s just—I didn’t know.”

“About the box?” Paula asks, confused.

“No, about any of this.” I gesture around, trying to not focus my attention solely on Paula.

“Of course you didn’t know. This wasn’t your fault.”