The following morning I woke without twenty-five missed calls.

There was one message from Daniel: a photograph of the children asleep under the blankets I’d knitted for them, captioned, “Thank you for last night.

Love you, Mom.” I smiled, replied that I loved them too, and made coffee.

The house was quiet.

I carried the mug to my painting corner and looked at Emma’s drawing of the open door.

I decided to hang it beside Thomas’s letter.