So we went.

We walked the paved trail to the oak grove, past the same grass, the same blue can, and Rhys stayed at my side until he saw kids with a soccer ball and asked if he could play, and ran off, and tripped over a root, and popped right back up laughing.

Beside me, Mira let out a breath she’d been holding for a very long time.

“He’s okay,” she said.

“He’s okay,” I said.

It was Mira who had gotten Rhys to the park, in the end — not me.