Now I held a piece of paper that made permanent the truest thing I had ever done.

“I went to see Evelyn this morning,” Arthur said quietly, looking out over the garden.

“Before the courthouse.

I planted yellow roses at her grave, the same ones she used to pick from Mom’s garden when we were kids.

And I stood there, and I told her about Maya.

I told her that her daughter is safe.

That she is loved beyond all measure.

That she is thriving, and clever, and happy, and that she has her mother’s smile.” His voice caught.