Six months on, the shadow had lifted from our house entirely, and it had lifted most of all from Theo, who had done the hardest work of any of us and deserved the peace the most.

Solomon became, in the way of some people who lose everything and are changed by it, a more present and reliable father than he had ever been a husband — showing up on time, keeping his promises, learning, slowly, to put the boy first.

And one warm afternoon, dropping Theo off after a day at the zoo, our son turned at the porch and asked his father the question he had been carrying for months.

“Dad — are you still mad at me for telling Mommy the secret?” And Solomon dropped to his knee and looked our son in the eyes and said the thing I had waited a long time to hear him say.