It’s been two days since we went to Clarice’s grave. When we brought Oliver home, he was quieter than usual. No one wanted to start packing up so many years of our lives, so we settled for having a slumber party in the living room.
Now it’s Thursday.
Our court appearance is scheduled for Monday, the day we’re all going to be separated. It’s absurd how fast a week is blurring by. We only have three more full days together as a family.
“Does going back to a foster home mean that I need to purge my closet because I’m really not trying to lose my wardrobe?” Serena asked, storming into my bedroom. I’ve been carefully sorting through pictures and books to see how we can distribute them among the six of us.
“I don’t think purging is necessary, but you can get rid of stuff you haven’t worn in over a year,” I suggested.
“Getting rid of clothes is like losing a part of history,” Serena whined.