He painted a long, smooth curve across the bottom of the white paper for the bridge’s stone foundation.

“Look how strong the middle arches are, Mom,” Toby said without taking his eyes off the paper.

“They hold up all the weight from the top,” I said, watching his small hand move with steady control.

He held the brush with three fingers tucked tight around the wooden handle, painting without the slightest tremor.

“Are we ever going back to Pinecrest Manor?” he asked softly, resting his brush on the rim of the cup.

“No,” I said plainly.