That is the whole foundation of a family, the thing Rebecca had spent two years quietly dismantling, rebuilt one honest conversation at a time.

I sold the big house because a house is not a home, and that place had only ever been a home when my wife was alive in it; afterward it was just square footage and, at the end, a crime scene with good landscaping.

The small place in Westport is a home, because Emily is ten minutes away and Noah’s dinosaurs are on the curtains and the people inside it tell each other the truth.

I used to think I had a home in Greenwich and had merely been lonely in it.