Hannah corrected me.

I listened.

Some afternoons we spoke about the years we had shared.

Other days we discussed nothing more than sleep schedules and laundry.

Gradually, I understood that dependable love was made from such ordinary things.

On my third visit, Hannah fell asleep on the couch while I read a board book to Clara.

I looked up when her breathing deepened, then lowered my voice and finished the page.

I did not photograph the moment.