I could watch him do it for hours.

I frequently did.

Wendy came out through the screen door with two glasses of iced tea, in a yellow sundress, glowing, her cheeks full and flushed with life.

The hollow, shivering shadow of the woman I had found on that freezing floor nearly two years before was gone so completely that on good days I could almost forget she had ever existed.

In her place was the woman I had married, restored and then some — whole, and strong, and unmistakably, deeply loved.

She sat beside me on the swing and leaned her head on my shoulder, and we watched our son interrogate a fallen leaf.