Children are quicker to love than we are; they do not carry our suspicions.

She began to light up when his truck pulled into the drive.

It took me much longer.

For a long time I could not look at him without a complicated ache, because his was my dead husband’s face, and every kindness he did me felt shadowed by the ghost of the man whose face it had been.

I did not trust the ache.

I was afraid of it.