It was the photo from our second summer on Cape Cod, taken six years ago on the pier at sunset before Noah and Lily were born.

Cole had his arm around my shoulder, wearing his beige summer sweater and smiling at the camera without a trace of the calculating tension that defined his later years.

“Lauren, the truck is loaded,” my father called from the hallway.

He stepped into the doorway, straightened his tie knot, and checked his gold watch.

“The building superintendent is waiting downstairs with the foreclosure lock company,” my father said.

“I found this in his desk,” I said, holding up the silver frame.