A silver sedan pulled into my driveway before I got to the front door.

My mother climbed out of the driver’s side with a glass baking dish wrapped in a clean dish towel in one arm and two foil-wrapped packages tucked under the other.

She came up the porch steps with her head bowed, her heavy silver bangle clinking against her wrist with every step.

“I brought dinner,” my mother said softly.

“And a couple of things for Emma.”

She set the warm dish on the porch table next to the mail.