“No, you’re right.” She picked Ava up off the mat. “Eleven days. You’d know.”

She took the warm bottle. She thanked me for it. And that night I lay in bed and could not work out what I had done, because every word I’d said was true and the whole thing was still wrong.

There were about forty of those between November and April.

The nap schedule. The pediatrician — Sabrina had one in Kittery she liked, and I had opinions about the practice on Route 1, and I made a call to check whether they were taking patients, and I told myself I was being helpful, and I had made the call before mentioning it to her.

Whether Ava was ready for solids. What we would do about Christmas. Whether Sabrina should apply to the community college in the spring or wait until after the trial, which I had opinions about and which was not my life.

I would like to say I was subtle. Helen tells me I was not.