Violet arrived carrying a tin of biscuits and a slim album.

Inside were photographs of Rose growing up: a crooked school portrait, a science fair ribbon, an untidy bedroom, an ordinary smile caught while washing dishes.

“Everyone tells stories about the people they’ve lost as if they never spilled milk,” Violet said.

“Rose spilled milk constantly.

She also believed every injured bird could be saved.”

Paige laughed.

“I do that.”

I felt a startling mixture of tenderness and grief.