The wooden tower leaned drastically to one side, defying several laws of physics.

Leo held a block, frozen, agonized.

“Grandpa.

Don’t let it fall.”

And for one brief second, my mind flashed all the way back to that freezing morning — the fogged windows, the bags of laundry, the single thin blanket, my son pushing open a car door with absolute shame written across his face.

And then I looked at my grandsons, warm and safe and howling with laughter in a home that was theirs, and I smiled.