I said I missed certain parts of it: the bright morning light in the nursery, the smell of the maple leaves in autumn, the wide porch where I’d once imagined watching Paisley learn to walk.

But missing a place did not mean I had been wrong to leave it.

She nodded and pointed toward Dad, who was teaching Wyatt how to hold a toy above Paisley’s reach just long enough to make her laugh.

“I think she has everything she needs in this room,” Naomi said.

“Everything important,” I agreed.

It was the first time I understood that I could mourn a lost future and still be grateful for the life opening in front of me.

I didn’t need a villain in every memory or a happy ending in every conversation.