The small act felt ridiculous and strangely important.

In the afternoon a nurse I had known during Chloe’s treatment passed me at the elevators.

“She’d be glad you came back,” she said.

I looked at the floor.

“I hope so.”

“She’d also tell you to stop looking like you owe the building an apology.”

I smiled, remembering the girl who once claimed that my serious expression could sterilize surgical instruments.

When I got home that night, I wrote to Paige: I managed an entire day.