Anger would have made destruction easy.

My daughters deserved decisions made with more care.

Our neighbor, Mrs.

Alvarez, brought vegetable soup when she heard we’d returned.

She was seventy-three and had raised four children above a grocery store before she retired.

“You’ve got that look,” she said, setting the container on the counter.

“What look?”

“The one where you’re carrying a whole staircase and somebody tells you it’s only a step.”