She directed me to a notice board near the front entrance, where volunteers had posted information about diaper drives and infant-feeding programs.

I wrote down the coordinator’s name instead of making a grand announcement.

Outside, Monica noticed me looking back through the glass doors.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“But not the same way.”

The first time I had stood in that parking lot, I believed I needed to unlock every dollar at once because money seemed like the only language Brandon respected.

Months later I knew the deeper problem had been the belief that one adult was entitled to decide whether another could meet a child’s basic needs.