“For what, sweetheart?” I asked, and I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

He was watching our daughter through the window glass, watching her laugh and hurl great armfuls of red and gold leaves up into the afternoon air, and there was on his face an expression I had almost never seen there in all our years together, a look of complete and settled peace.

“For coming to the hospital that Tuesday,” he said.

“With the lunchbox.