We sat at my kitchen table and scrolled through pictures.

Hazel asleep in the yellow crib.

June reaching toward a mobile made from felt stars.

Rose wearing a knitted hat far too large for her head.

A photograph of me, pale and exhausted, holding all three on Miriam’s sofa.

Nathaniel stopped at the photograph of the nursery.

“I wish I had been there to build those cribs,” he said.

“So do I,” I answered.