Slowly, over the course of that hour, he drifted toward her corner of the room.

First they were merely two colleagues talking business.

Then they were laughing at something, heads bent close.

And finally, believing the whole room to be safely distracted by a speaker at the podium, my husband let his hand come to rest, easy and familiar and comfortable, on the small of Chloe’s back.

The exact gesture from the photograph.

The exact gesture that had turned my fingers to ice in my own kitchen four days before.

Under the table, I felt Leo’s small hand find mine and grip it, hard.