“It was meant to be.” Beethoven had come from the B litter of guide pups and was trained for eighteen months. He’s now two years old and ready to work. “You know you mention this every time you see him.”

“Naturally,” she says.

Though I’ve only had Beethoven for a few months, he’s the perfect addition to our family. Jackson adores him, and I am thrilled my son will grow up with a dog who not only knows him, but can protect him too.

And me.

We turn left into the park, our pumpkin lattes clogging the air with the last remnants of the season. I adjust the light scarf around my neck and suck in the crisp air. Jackson’s ankles jingle—now sporting a bell for each foot as he prepares to move into the next stage of life: walking.

“Wait, stop,” Jess says. “I want to take a photo.”

“It’s not real unless you post it, right?” Beth jokes.

I know this is more for them than me, but I tell Beethoven to halt and hold my latte up in one hand and smile for the camera while Beth and Jess squeeze in. Me, Beethoven, and Jackson. One happy family.

We locate our familiar bench at the park, all of the incidents of the past months steadily draining with each passing day. Beth and Jess comment on the activities lined up for spring. Beth mentions her friend Crystal, who’s on a committee for one of the charities she backs. The name twists in my brain.

Crystal left me a long voice mail after I decided not to press charges, but I deleted it without listening. I know through the grapevine that Savi is in therapy, that Oliver was returned to Crystal under strict supervision from the state, and that she’s put her house up for sale. I’m not sure where they’re going or when, but I hope it’s somewhere they can start fresh. I don’t tell the girls how much I miss all three of them, and how, even though I haven’t yet forgiven them, I do want them to be okay.

We spend the morning talking as the kids play on a picnic blanket spread out in front of the bench. Jackson crawls at warp speed, and I lunge after him every few minutes, which constantly cuts into our conversation. After an hour of chasing and talking, I tell the girls I need to get Jackson home for a nap. I retrieve Beethoven’s harness.

“Don’t forget the nanny interview tomorrow,” Jess trills.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I say. “I’ve got so many music lessons lined up, I might hire her no matter what.”