The neat beds and the washed plates had never been signs of health; they had been symptoms of fear.

The bickering on the porch steps was the real thing, the thing I had been waiting for without knowing it, the sound of two children who finally believed they were allowed to stay.

Two children had grown up believing they were alone in the world.

One woman had believed her grief would hollow her out until there was nothing left.

And it turned out, in the end, that nobody had to leave to make room for anybody else — that there had always been, in my heart and in my home, more than enough room for everyone.