Not the newspaper one — she’d had that for a year. She wanted one from before.

I have four. They were in a box in the back of the cedar closet where the Class-A uniform hangs, and I had not opened it since 2019, and I want to record that my hands were unsteady and that Nora noticed and did not comment, which is a kindness she did not get from me.

We sat on the floor of my bedroom and I showed my seven-year-old — eight, by then — a photograph of a man in a tuxedo at a podium, and one of him at a beach, and one of him laughing at something outside the frame, taken by me, in 2015, when I still thought I knew what I had married.

Theo came in halfway through and looked at exactly one and left. That’s his right.

Nora looked at all four for a long time.

“He looks normal,” she said.