I held the photograph long enough to remember the cold morning air and the way Sadie had run ahead without once looking back to see whether we were still there.

She simply trusted that we would be.

That was the kind of trust I wanted our home to deserve again.

Not certainty that illness would never return or that our plans would always work, but the knowledge that we would speak up, ask for help, and come back to the table when something was difficult.

I placed the picture on the refrigerator beside Sadie’s newest drawing, then returned to my chair.

I cut the pie in half.