Grace's mother pushes the door open wider and allows me inside, my misery multiplying when I see they've already packed boxes, probably just in case I threw them out on the streets. Pictures of Grace at all stages of her life remain on the wall, however, shooting my heart up into my mouth.

We walk into a room at the back of the three-bedroom apartment and the woman points to a small twin bed in the corner of the room, a shelf built into the headboard, packed with books. Simple and small. ...