On a sunny afternoon, Emily tugged him to the backyard. “Look, Daddy, the swing works again! He fixed it.” Michael pushed the swing gently, noting the new ropes and sanded frame. Sarah’s voice floated from the porch: “A neighbor helped.” Michael nodded, though he noted Sarah gave no name to this neighbor.
That evening, he found a folded receipt tucked into a drawer. It was a hardware store purchase for nails, wood sealant, and paint. The handwriting scrawled across the back wasn’t Sarah’s. He rubbed the paper between his fingers, feeling the ghost of a masculine presence weaving its way through his house.