Richard visited the site almost every day, checking on the progress.

He would bring lunch for the workers and sit with me on the front steps.

One afternoon in December, we watched the first snow begin to fall.

The flakes drifted down, dusting the brick facade of the building.

“Are you ready for this, Emily?” Richard asked, handing me a paper cup of hot cider.

“I am,” I said, taking a sip.

“I never thought this house could feel warm.”

“But it does now.”

He placed his hand over mine, his palm warm against my skin.

“You made it that way,” he said.

On the first of January, we officially opened the doors.

We named it Sarah’s House, after my grandmother who had always believed in me.

A small brass plaque was mounted next to the front door.

Nora Singh came to the opening, bringing a large houseplant for the entryway.

Mrs. Alvarez made a massive batch of her signature sugar cookies.

My daughters stood beside me on the steps, wearing their heavy winter coats.

I held Lily’s hand, while Grace and Olivia stood close to Richard.