Behind the frosted glass, a shadow moved.

I remembered how often I had once stood on another porch imagining Brenda opening the door with our girls in her arms.

This time I had no bouquet, no yellow sweaters, no speech about forever.

I had only a folder, a careful boundary, and a determination not to let the encounter touch the children’s stability.

When the door opened, Brenda recognized me before I said a word.

Her expression changed from impatience to disbelief.