I stepped into the front hall and let the door settle into the latch.

The smell of warm soup drifted from the stove, where the pot had been simmering on low since five.

David had dropped off a fresh loaf of sourdough when he brought Bennett home from the park at six.

He’d stood in the doorway for two minutes with his hands resting flat on his knees while Bennett ran to put his sneakers away in the closet.

“He was on the swings for an hour,” David had said, his voice quiet and even.