Her younger brother, Oliver, had recently turned seven and was learning the constellations.

I had bought Emma a proper sketchbook and a set of colored pencils.

Oliver’s box held a small telescope I had researched for weeks.

Neither child had done anything wrong.

But I could not simply drive back to that porch and ask for permission to love them.

While I was looking for a safe place to put the gifts, I found a brown envelope in the kitchen drawer.

It contained receipts and a handwritten ledger I had started when Thomas died.