Every Saturday, Lily and Noah came to my condominium. We baked the chocolate cake Thomas had loved. Noah still filled the measuring cup too high. Lily began sewing a skirt from blue cotton patterned with tiny stars.

Daniel dropped them off in the morning and returned after dinner. At first he waited in the hallway. Then one Saturday I invited him in for coffee.

He stood uncertainly beside the kitchen island. The last kitchen island between us had held an assisted-living brochure; this one held flour, butter, and a bowl of chocolate frosting.

Lily ran to him with the unfinished skirt pinned over her jeans. “Look what Grandma and I made.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“She did most of it,” I said.