On the drive home we talked about ordinary things.

Theo wanted a bicycle with blue handlebars.

Frank wanted new tires on his car.

I wanted to finish a design proposal before Monday.

There were no hidden documents waiting beneath those plans, no threatening phone calls, no demand that I surrender the future to someone else’s pride.

Our lives had become small enough to hold, and large enough to grow.

I kept my mother’s letter beside the photograph of my parents.