One afternoon I visited the old house in Upper Arlington to pick up a box of family photographs that had been found during the property’s transfer.

Kyle met me at the door.

The kitchen had been repainted.

There was a new table where the marble island used to be, and no breakfast list taped to the refrigerator.

For a moment I could almost see myself standing there with a sleeping baby against my chest, listening to one word split my future in two.

“Are you okay?” Kyle asked.

“Yes,” I answered.