Noah banged the spoon against the cabinet, delighted with the noise.

We ate together with the windows open and a breeze moving through the curtains.

Nobody talked about who deserved the larger portion or who had earned a place at the table.

We simply passed the bread.

After dinner, I took Noah outside to watch the fireflies appear over the grass.

He reached toward each tiny light as though it were something he could hold.

I remembered staring through the hospital window a year earlier, afraid that I would drop him, afraid of the future, afraid of asking for anything at all.