Owen was mending a broken latch on the back gate, and I was sorting receipts at the kitchen table.

“Can I show you something?” Noah asked.

“Of course,” I said.

He played a new piece, not the song he had written with Autumn.

This one began with a quiet, uncertain phrase that gradually opened into a fuller melody.

The ending was simple.

It returned to the same opening notes, but played with more confidence.

“What’s it called?” Owen asked.