I didn’t miscarry the baby.

When I was lying in the hospital with needles in my arms, I talked to the baby. I could feel his fear. I told him he was going to be OK. I promised him that I’d never leave him, no matter what. I promised him.

Over the last few years I’ve kept track of the Straubs. They didn’t have another child. They didn’t hire a surrogate or adopt. I also know that Itzhak died, at the age of fourteen. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Natalie lost Itzhak. I wish I could tell her that.

It seems the Straubs never heard from Ian again once he resigned from their firm. I had told them before that he loved Italy. They probably envision him living in Rome. It’s an uplifting image and not an unreasonable assumption. I can picture opportunities opening up for him there.

I have the same dream almost every night. Natalie is running toward me, smiling, and I hold out my arms to embrace her. But as she approaches closer, her face changes and I grow frightened of her. Then yesterday I saw her on the street in Venice Beach, but this time it wasn’t a dream. She was taller and her face was thinner, but I’m certain it was her. She might be looking for me.

I invite Jasper’s friend Izzy and Izzy’s mom, Maya, to our apartment in Venice for a playdate. They live in a Spanish hacienda–style house on the edge of Santa Monica Canyon, with transporting views of the whitewater ocean, mountains, and canyon, each layer informing the others. I know their house because Jasper and I drive past it on our way to go hiking.

Izzy’s dad drops Maya and Izzy off. He smiles and waves from the car, then leaves to pick up groceries. Maya hangs her jean jacket, along with Izzy’s, on the hooks in the entryway. She and I chat while the children play Uno. Maya asks about all the framed photos hanging on the wall, opposite the suspended glass cabinet in the kitchen. “They’re works of art,” she says.

“That’s Jasper with his grandparents. They both passed away last year,” I explain. “And that’s Jasper with his cousins on his fifth birthday.” Jasper’s green eyes are beaming straight at the camera.

“Oh my God,” she says, “you have to take pictures of Izzy’s birthday party.”

I smile at her. “I would love to.”