None of it was glamorous.

I began attending a community program that helped people leaving prison rebuild their lives without returning to old habits.

I was often the oldest man in the room and the least willing to admit how much I needed guidance.

Hannah and I met at a playground one mild Saturday afternoon.

Clara ran toward me carrying a red plastic bucket.

Her hair bounced in loose curls, and her laughter was so like Hannah’s that I had to blink hard.

“Daddy, build a castle!” she announced.