There was a time when those simple words would have been impossible.

We had each believed that admitting the other parent did something well diminished our own place in Tommy’s life.

Now we knew that love did not work that way.

I returned upstairs and stood for a moment in the quiet apartment.

The bakery was preparing for its afternoon rush.

A breeze moved the curtains beside Tommy’s cardboard city, whose buildings had become more detailed over the years.

His bridge stretched confidently between the two neighborhoods.