The building smelled of fresh paint and coffee.

Its director had agreed to let us examine some old newsletters stored in a locked cabinet, provided we did not photograph the pages containing other families’ private details.

In a 2003 newsletter, Rose stood beside a group of volunteers holding boxes of donated winter coats.

The caption thanked her for coordinating transportation for new parents.

In another photograph she was leaning over a table, showing children how to plant seeds in recycled cups.

I had imagined her for months as a rival, a beautiful face that had occupied my husband’s heart while I stood beside him.