When Oliver became tired, they left without protest.

It wasn’t the family I’d imagined when I stood in a nursery choosing blue blankets.

It was something made carefully from what remained, with boundaries sturdy enough to let kindness through.

After the guests departed, I found Warren in the kitchen washing plates.

His sleeves were rolled up, and he was looking for the correct place to stack them.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“I know.