Almost a year to the day after I found him in that sedan, David and I sat in his sunlit living room while Leo and Mason built an elaborate, teetering tower of wooden blocks on the rug.

“Dad,” David said, looking out the window with a mug of coffee in his hand.

“I don’t think I ever properly thanked you.”

“You don’t need to thank your father,” I said, “for showing up.”

He shook his head.

“If you hadn’t come that morning — if you hadn’t just appeared — I don’t know how long I would have stayed in that car, Dad.