When I got back to the apartment, the kitchen was dark except for the light from the stove hood. June was in the living room, reading a book to Eli in her quiet, steady voice.
I stood in the quiet kitchen, staring at the formal blue custody petition sitting on the grease-stained cafe menu on my kitchen table.
I folded the heavy blue paper of the custody petition and tucked it into the back of my coupon binder before Eli could look up from his homework. The kitchen table was still damp from where I had wiped away the grease of the afternoon shift, the scent of yellow soap lingering on the oilcloth.
Eli was drawing circles on a scrap of lined paper, his pencil lead worn down to a dull gray nub. He did not look at the binder, his attention entirely fixed on the rings of Saturn he was sketching with careful, uneven strokes.
My hands felt cold, the silver wedding band on my right index finger spinning loose against my knuckle. I had exactly seven dollars and forty-two cents left in my coin purse after buying three quarts of milk and a loaf of day-old white bread from the bakery downstairs.
