She watched me work and looked faintly amused.

“I remember when you paid a contractor to hang one mirror,” she said.

“He hung it crooked.”

“You told him the wall was crooked.”

We laughed, briefly, and then grew quiet.

The memory belonged to a version of our marriage that had once felt possible.

“Hazel’s room is the one on the left,” Megan said.

“For when she’s home more consistently.”