Patricia phoned the next afternoon and asked me to bring Toby over for tea, and she said my name the way she used to say it, back before any of this started.

I went, because a woman whose lawyer is drawing up separation papers doesn’t invite a two-month-old over just for the fun of it.

She had a fire burning in the living room even though the afternoon was mild, and the whole house smelled like lemon furniture polish.

“There he is,” she said, and took Toby out of my arms before I even had the diaper bag off my shoulder.

I sat where she pointed and watched her carry him over to the mantel.