On Christmas morning Jenna handed me an envelope.

Inside was a print of that photograph, framed in simple wood.

On the back she’d written: We are here.

I read it slowly.

The words had none of the grand promises I’d once believed were necessary to make a family secure.

They were enough.

I placed the frame where we could see it from the kitchen, and we spent the rest of the morning drinking coffee, feeding Wesley and letting the day pass peacefully.

PART 35