Now I understood that trust has to be rebuilt through what you actually do.

So I helped Nina care for Helen while she studied, and Elliot went back to drawing, filling sketchbooks with birds again, and slowly the guarded look he’d carried back to my doorstep began to fade.

One morning before sunrise, I stood at the kitchen window rocking Helen while Elliot sat at the table with a pencil, soft light falling across his newest drawing.

“Mom,” he said quietly.

I looked over. “Thank you for opening the door.”