He showed up for appointments, remembered what she needed, and continued the counseling he had started.

We treated the future of our marriage as a separate question from the kind of parents we intended to be.

I would not trade the second for promises about the first.

One evening, after Paisley had fallen asleep, I sat beside the window with a cup of tea.

A neighbor’s porch light flickered on across the street.

The apartment was quiet, and dinner was already finished: a simple meal I had made because I wanted it, after a day in which I had felt well enough to cook.

My phone lit up with a message from Dad.