A man shouting.
My mother pulling me toward a doorway.
My small hand trapped tightly inside hers.
“She was crying.”
Grandpa nodded.
“I came to help her pack.”
Another image.
A staircase.
A little boy standing at the top.
Watching everything.
“Julian was there.”
“Yes.”
“He saw it.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“We left.”
Grandpa’s voice softened.
