“Then I’ll keep showing up when there’s nothing special happening.

With your permission.”

June nodded slowly.

“That’s better.”

On the way out, Sophie handed him a folded paper snowflake.

“Keep this somewhere it won’t get squashed,” she instructed.

He placed it in the inside pocket of his coat, next to the old photograph of his father that he had carried for decades.

The two pieces of paper felt like a strange sort of balance: one a reminder of a broken promise, the other a chance not to repeat it.