It belonged to another kind of evidence.

Evidence that somebody had once seen a future for me beyond being a useful wife in someone else’s home.

The next morning, when I dressed Miles, I told him about his grandfather Robert.

I told him that Grandpa liked maps, old engines, and lemon pie.

I told him about the way he sang off-key while fixing a sink.

Miles answered by grabbing my finger.

It felt like an agreement.