On Christmas night, Lauren called as promised.

I had spent the day in my small house opening drawers and looking at rooms that suddenly seemed different.

The spare bedroom had been a place to store boxes from the move.

Now I noticed the sharp corner of the desk, the unanchored bookshelf, and a window that would need better blinds if a child ever spent time there.

I reminded myself not to turn a possibility into an expectation.

Mason had a secure home with his mother.