At first, the guest room held a bag and a few toys.

Then it acquired a place for his clothes, books within reach, and enough familiar things that arriving no longer meant starting over.

Eventually, it was the room we prepared for Timothy.

That did not make him a child removed from his mother.

It made our house another safe, known place in his life.

One evening, Christopher stood in the doorway watching Timothy arrange his dinosaurs on the bed.

“He looks comfortable,” he said.