Lily’s jacket and drawing were protected in the chest.

Her colors and Noah’s were on the brochures in the trunk.

My parents’ financial troubles remained theirs to handle.

Melissa’s wedding had become smaller.

There was no more request I had to answer by changing the foundation’s purpose or handing over money to prove I belonged.

Margaret came to the doorway and asked what time I expected to return.

I told her.

“Then we’ll have something to eat,” she said.

“Yes.”

I walked to Ruth’s car.

She did not ask whether I felt better.

She asked whether I had brought the folder.

I had.

We left for the community center, where people would be waiting with practical questions, coats to hang, and children of their own to get home to.