For the first time since our divorce, she and I agreed without a contest over who was right.

At my apartment, Owen had transformed the second bedroom.

There were clean sheets, a lamp shaped like a moon, and a basket of toys he’d collected from the old house with police permission.

A note on the door read PIPER’S ROOM, in letters as big as he could make them.

Piper looked at the door for a long time.

“Can it lock?” she asked.

“Only if you want privacy,” I said.