My hands grew calloused, and my expensive leather shoes were replaced by work boots.

Sometimes, Maren would bring the kids over on Saturday afternoons.

Noah helped me hold the measuring tape, while Lila collected the wood shavings from the floor.

One afternoon, while the kids were exploring the rocky beach below the house, Maren stood with me on the unfinished deck.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and dry grass.

“You’ve done a lot of work,” she said, leaning against the wooden railing.

“There’s still a lot to do,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

“It looks like a home,” she said.

“I hope it will be,” I said.

She turned to look at me, her hair blowing across her face in the autumn wind.

“I spoke to Celeste last week,” Maren said suddenly.

My heart skipped a beat. “You did?”

“She called me,” Maren said. “She wanted to tell me that she didn’t know about your mother’s test results.”

“Do you believe her?” I asked.

“I think she knew some of it,” Maren said. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. She sounded lonely.”