I stare down at the blanket as if she told me it’s covered in scabies.

“It was her favorite blanket as a child,” she sighs. “Even as a teenager, she used to keep it in her bed. It… meant a lot to her.”

“Oh,” I say, because for God’s sake, what else can I say to that?

“Look, Abby.” Mrs. Johnson lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I know how you must feel about Monica. I… I’ve gone through a lot of the same emotions. But she gave you the greatest gift you can give a person.”

I don’t disagree with her.

“I know Monica would want her son to have this blanket.” Her eyes flit down to the worn yellow fabric, then back up to me. “Obviously it’s your decision, but I hope you’ll give it to him. So that he’s got at least a tiny part of his biological mother with him.”

He’s already got her blood running through his veins! Isn’t it enough that every time I look at my son, I’m searching for traces of that evil woman? I love David so much, but I can never erase the fact that half his genes belong to her.

But when Mrs. Johnson thrusts the blanket in my direction, I take it from her. There’s no point in arguing. Let her believe I’ll give David the blanket if it gives her peace. Except the only place this blanket is going is the trash bin.

Just as I’m closing the door behind me and throwing the deadlock into place, Sam emerges with David, who is now sparklingly clean and snuggled up in a green towel. Sam always brings him to me after his baths because he knows how cute I think he is when he’s all wrapped up like that. David is beaming at me, showing off his six tiny teeth.

“Who was at the door?” Sam asks.

“Monica’s stepmother.” I shudder as I say the words.

Sam’s face pales in what I’m certain is a reflection of my own. “How is Monica?”

“The same,” I say.

Except…

“Oh.” His shoulders sag. “That’s comforting.”

“Also,” I add, “she brought us this blanket that used to belong to Monica.”

I hold the blanket to my nose and jerk my head back at the smell. Monica’s lavender-scented perfume is clinging to it, intermingled with the faint smell of laundry detergent. As if I needed another reason to hate this blanket.

“Christ, why does she think we’d want that?” Sam also shudders as he holds David tight to his chest. “Get rid of it. Now.”

“Banka,” David says, pointing to the blanket with a chubby hand.

“That’s right,” I say. “It’s a yucky blanket and we’re going to get rid of it.”