The loving remakes you.

Maya remade Arthur and me, over months and then years, into softer, truer, more open versions of ourselves, and she did it all without the slightest idea that she was doing anything at all besides growing up in a house where she was, at last, wanted.

Maya slept between us, unaware, the small living bridge across everything that had broken, and I understood that she was already, without lifting a finger, healing something in our family that we had long since given up as beyond repair.

Chapter 18 — Nine Years