A woman’s young son accidentally revealed that a mysterious woman had been visiting their upstairs room while she was at work. Certain her husband was hiding an af:fair, she began searching for the truth. What she discovered was nothing like she expected.

The house was silent as I stood at the foot of our bed, folding a stack of Leo’s tiny T-shirts. On the dresser, my mother’s silk scarf rested in a loose coil, still carrying the faint scent of her jasmine perfume three months after we buried her.

Before I could stop myself, I lifted it to my face and breathed in.

“Mommy, are you crying again?”

Leo stood in the doorway wearing mismatched socks, one blue and one striped, holding a juice box like a prize.

“No, baby. Just smelling Grandma.”

“Grandma smells like flowers.”

“She does.”

He padded into the room and climbed onto the bed. That was when I noticed it again—a smear of silver paint along the side of his thumb, dried and peeling, with another streak crusted near his elbow that I was certain had not been there when I bathed him the night before.