Now I remembered the weight of my sons in her arms, the bag of crushed cans, the tired dignity in her face.

I remembered how easily I’d laughed.

I had been given opportunities to do better long before that afternoon.

My failure was not a misunderstanding that began with a fake photograph.

It began when I decided my power mattered more than Megan’s voice.

The children were nearly six now.

Mason loved building elaborate roads across the living room.

Bryce asked questions about freight trains and thunderstorms that sent me searching through library books.