Emma sat on the braided rug in the hallway, holding her stuffed purple rabbit Barnaby by his left ear while I double-checked the lock on the front door.

By ten o’clock Saturday morning, bright summer sun was spilling over the green lawn at the town park playground on Rochester Road.

Emma ran straight for the black rubber swing set, her white sneakers kicking up dry wood chips at every quick step.

She had on her yellow sundress with the tiny white flowers, the eighteen-dollar Target dress that had made it through the long, painful summer.

“Push me really high, Mommy,” Emma said, reaching up with both hands to grab the cool metal chains of the middle swing.