Above us, she had written the names of stars with inventive spelling.

“What’s this path?” I asked.

“It’s for visiting,” she said.

“So nobody has to get lost.”

I felt Elena’s hand find mine.

I looked at the drawing, then at our daughter, who was waiting proudly for us to admire her work.

Five years could not be handed back.

The mistakes made by my family could not be excused, and the little girl I had missed would always have memories I could never share.