I thought I was waiting to be rescued that day.

What I know now is that I had been reaching toward safety for longer than I understood, one small choice at a time.

The call was the moment another person reached back.

When Josephine stirs, I kiss her forehead and carry her inside.

Our house is warm.

Her crib is waiting.

Tomorrow there will be dishes, laundry, appointments, and the delightful disaster of teaching a toddler to eat with a spoon.

It is not a perfect life.

It is ours.

THE END.