window. A skin formed over the cooling spaghetti sauce.
Luke watched without blinking.
“It’s true,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
I lowered my eyes to the page. To his yellow-highlighted name. To the donor number I had memorized nineteen years earlier.
4127.
“Mom,” Luke said. “You promised. Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s true,” I whispered.
Luke shut his eyes.
He shed no tears. Perhaps he had exhausted his tears between Ben’s apartment and our house. He sat motionless, eyes shut, palms flat on the table.
“Ben’s my brother,” he
