I wrote about my days in plain language, leaving out the kind of excuses a child might one day recognize.

I told her what books I was reading, what I remembered about my mother and how much I loved hearing that she had learned a new word.

Hannah visited occasionally when circumstances allowed and when she believed it was right for Clara.

We spoke through glass and on approved calls.

Some conversations were awkward.

Others were surprisingly easy.

She rebuilt her work at the community arts nonprofit and helped turn the old warehouse project into an independently governed public space after the property issues were resolved through lawful proceedings.

I had no ownership or control over it.