Patricia answered simply, “You don’t.”

After the attorney left, Chloe asked me to bring the sketchbook she had kept in her childhood bedroom.

It was buried in a closet beneath holiday decorations and old report cards.

I drove home to find it, walking through the rooms with an unfamiliar sense of purpose.

I cleaned the spare bedroom, washed the sheets, checked the smoke alarms, and moved a comfortable chair beside the bed.

The tasks did not solve anything.