Six months later, the afternoon sun lay warm across the back garden of my house, and Veronica sat at the wooden picnic table with a set of watercolors, painting a rainbow across a fresh white sheet of paper.

There was color in her cheeks again.

Her laugh, when it came, was loud and easy and entirely a child’s, with none of the old weight in it.

Reyes came out onto the patio carrying two mugs of coffee.

He handed me one and leaned against the railing, watching her paint.

“The last of the probate came through this morning, Loretta,” he said.

“Full legal guardianship of Veronica is yours, permanently.