At first, the blanket was enough. Bequeathed to all five sons as one, it was sewn from bits of each boy’s clothes and held the history of their lives. That first night, they all piled in Grossmutter’s bed and pulled the new coverlet over their knees. Propping on pillows and leaning on Simon, the littler ones listened to him tell their stories, each tale reflected in swatches of fabric. The squares in the corners were Fabio’s t-shirt, Sebastian’s pajamas formed stripes down the long side, the border itself came from Oliver’s socks, and Leo’s bright flannels were appliquéd rainbows. They cuddled together beneath the warm colors, a quintet of boys falling tandem to sleep. But, in the night, the room grew cold and one by one the brothers woke and yanked the blanket back and forth to claim its favors for himself. Each boy forgot so soon the warmth he found enclosed in his brothers’ open arms, and the room without turned only colder and distant.
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