Lacy cleans the windows once a week. On Thursday. One week she does the inside. The next week the outside. Except the small window in her closet.
It's useless, by the way. The window, at least.
She leaves the closet door closed. Except when she's getting dressed. And she makes sure her kids don't use it as a hiding place when they play hide and seek.
Stacey hid there once about three years ago. When Lacy found him wedged between her winter coat and a dress she wore in high school she pulled him out by his wrist and slapped his face. His tears mixed with the blood from his nose as he ran out the front door and down the street. Lacy ran her fingers down the seam of the dress.
When she does open the closet door she traces the curves of an S that's worn it's way through the dirt on the tiny window. She presses her thumb hard into the glass at the end. She closes her eyes and hears the last thing he said.
"Merry Christmas, and a happy new year."