My dad opened the back door first, setting Noah carefully in his car seat and fastening the chest harness with a firm plastic snap.

Then he opened the front passenger door and helped me ease into the bucket seat, lifting my swollen right leg in with careful gentleness.

Ethan stood three feet away on the grass, looking at me through the open car door, his mouth open as if he were searching for a word that could undo six weeks of quiet going-along.

I pulled the passenger door shut, feeling the heavy latch catch tight against the frame.

As the engine turned over with a steady hum, I looked down at my hand resting on my knee.