“Paula,” she interrupted gently, “you do not need to finish that sentence right now.”

Tears sprang to my eyes.

I hadn’t realized how long I’d been waiting for someone to say I could stop explaining him.

My mother arrived with a faded canvas tote full of magazines and a sweatshirt for me.

She kissed Sadie’s forehead, asked permission before holding her hand, and told her that she was loved whether she got an A on her chemistry quiz or failed it spectacularly.

While they talked, I opened my phone’s banking app.