Declan came with two children of his own from an earlier relationship: Toby, who was eleven, and Noelle, who was nine.

Their mother lived several states away, so they spent long stretches with us, and for a while we really did look like the thing I’d hoped we were — five people piling into one car on Sunday afternoons, birthday cakes, road trips, the photographs where everyone is squinting into the sun and smiling.

But over the years I started to notice small things.

And I did what a lot of women do with small things when the big picture is one they’ve staked their hopes on: I explained them away, one at a time, until I had built a whole cathedral of reasons not to see what was right in front of me.