Maya made soup, the kind she’d once been denied, and set bread to warm in the oven.

Liam toddled between the kitchen and living room, delighted by a toy truck with squeaky wheels.

I opened the refrigerator to find fruit, milk, soup for tomorrow, and enough food for friends who might stop by.

For a second I saw the old kitchen, the empty shelves, the cold noodles.

Then Maya came beside me and slipped her hand into mine.

“We don’t have to pretend it never happened,” she said.