A moment later, Jordan is at the door in his red-and-gray Catholic school uniform, holding the hand of a smiley blonde chick in overalls who must be Jordan’s playdate’s babysitter. She’s not much bigger than him. “Thank you so much for walking him home, Sadie,” Anneliese says as she opens the door.

“Not a problem! Like I said, your place is on my way home. It smells delicious in here, by the way. What are you making?” The two women chat in the doorway as I stay in the kitchen with a perfect view of them, though the angle of the entryway allows me to remain invisible.

“Jordy, want to set the table?” Anneliese asks, and I can see him waver, almost protest. But, like his sister, he acquiesces, trudging his way to the kitchen, where he gives me a wave before stepping onto a stool and finding four mismatched plates.

“Wow. Even Callie’s parents have a hard time getting her to do any chores around the house. You have them whipped!” Sadie giggles, though her joke isn’t very funny. “What’s your secret?”

I see Anneliese give her a tight smile. “I have my ways.”

Sadie and Callie leave and soon, the conversation about Gabriella seems forgotten. We sit for dinner at the tiny table in the main room, and it goes without incident until Lola spills her apple juice all over her spaghetti and we’re forced to do some cleanup. As before, Anneliese serves me, and herself, iced tea. And in spite of myself, I’m itching for a glass of full-bodied red wine to go with the sauce. I say nothing.

Afterward, I clean the pots and dishes while Anneliese reads the kids their bedtime stories in their shared room and tucks them in. I’m sitting on the couch, scrolling through my phone, ignoring work emails that are still coming in even though the workday officially ended almost two hours ago, when Anneliese comes back in and flops down on the couch next to me.

She lets her hair out of its ponytail, and it cascades down her back in ripples. Still on her fingers are tiny puppets, each a different animal—a cow, a pig, a rooster. She plucks them off one by one, leaving them in a neat pile on the table, their smiling faces staring up at us. Without the structure of her digits, they’re deflated, seemingly mangled in the feeble light.

“Maybe I do need to find more friends, make more connections here. It would be nice to come out of my shell, maybe even try on a new version of myself,” Anneliese says, gazing at the tiny puppets. “At least I have your company now.” She grins at me.