I put that second letter away safely in my desk drawer, agreeing with Dr.

Owens that we would hold off on any face-to-face contact until Austin truly wanted to see his grandmother again.

There was no magical, overnight family reunion, and there was no dramatic holiday dinner where everyone hugged and acted as though the past three months had never happened.

I had no interest whatsoever in cheap, put-on harmony; what mattered to me was the slow, day-by-day buildup of trustworthy behavior from the grown-ups in my son’s life.

One sunny Saturday afternoon in late September, I found Austin sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, happily putting together a plastic fire engine while the twins napped peacefully in their cribs.