The stairs to the attic groaned when she pulled the cord. As her head reached the landing to the room, a stifling heat engulfed her. Years of enclosure carried the scent of sealed storage bins and musty cardboard. A city of boxes surrounding her begged for attention. From their openings, clothes in saturated colors protruded, curled papers waved, and books poked out of some like the ribs of a skeleton.

The woman sighed and got to work, dragging them down the pullout ladder, balanced on her shoulders, then resolved to push them off the ledge with a murderous nudge and watch as the box’s contents spilled below. Several of the contents clung to the packages that had housed them for ages. Old ski jackets, polyester party dresses, and home and garden magazines piled on the second-floor landing. Saving for what, she thought, an emergency outdated ski party? Outside, the muffled hum of a lawnmower continued. A dog barked sporadically. Below her, male voices navigated each other around corners with mattresses and dressers. She stopped shoving the old belongings and instead arranged them for disposal later.

By the edge of the room stood a plastic storage bin with a broken lid resembling a crooked smile, akin to a smirk, a dare to be opened. She removed the cover and raised a mouse-eaten onesie. The mice had spared a few items. Half of the box held folded baby boy clothing, and on the other side, the girls. Some of the remaining infant pajamas were yellow and green, the neutral colors reflecting uncertainty about who would arrive. Not knowing, not knowing; the words knocked about in her mind. A strangeness bloomed from within that was difficult to name. It was of want, wanting the one not chosen, or pursued. There was no perception of having or needing but simply wanting more.

“Are you going to deal with this?” His voice called from downstairs. “You should have dealt with this sooner.” He was right, she thought. They’d followed the paths laid out for them and gotten lost in so many ways. There had been love and happiness too. Little hands had been held. Noses wiped. Stories read. These existed in the past. She breathed in deeply and refolded the cozy footie sleepwear with pale stars. The container fought revealment, but the untaken path remained hidden.