One evening Chloe visited with a box of photographs Gertrude had asked her to pass along.

Most were pictures from birthdays and holidays.

In one, Kenneth and I stood beside Gertrude in my backyard while she opened a gift I’d spent weeks choosing.

We looked like a family.

In another, she was resting after knee surgery, with me crouching beside her chair and holding a glass of water.

“Mom wanted you to have these,” Chloe said.

“She doesn’t know how to apologize.”