I thought about the old card Noah had chosen not to send, the questions Sophia still carried in her notebook, and the future conversations none of us could predict.

I couldn’t promise that Daniel would change.

I couldn’t promise every meeting would be easy or every legal dispute would end neatly.

I could promise that my children would be heard, that we would tell the truth as best we could, and that no one would ever need to earn a place at our table by pretending to be someone else.

“Mom,” Olivia called, holding up the serving spoon, “are you listening?”