On the anniversary of the day Grace died, Sophie woke before me.

I heard her moving in the kitchen and found her standing on a chair beside Rachel, stirring pancake batter. Ruth had arrived early with strawberries. Eli and Marisol were coming later.

“You were supposed to sleep,” Sophie told me.

“I heard a very loud spoon.”

“That was Aunt Rachel.”

Rachel held up both hands.

Sophie laughed. Then her face grew thoughtful.

“Can we go to the garden after breakfast?”

“Of course.”

Grace had loved that garden in every season. Sophie and I had visited often during the past year, sometimes to work and sometimes simply to sit. Today she wanted to bring a small bunch of flowers from our yard.

We ate together around the kitchen table. Ruth asked for seconds. Rachel said the pancakes were better than mine. I agreed.

When Marisol and Eli arrived, Sophie ran to show them the first beans climbing our fence. Eli said his plants at the community garden were taller. Sophie challenged him to measure them.

At the garden, Mrs. Bell had set aside a bench for us. Volunteers were busy in the family room, but no one asked Sophie to speak or perform. She placed her flowers beneath Grace’s photograph and sat with me.

“I miss her,” she said.

“I do too.”

“Sometimes I feel happy and then remember she’s gone.”

“I feel that way.”

Sophie watched Eli help Marisol fill watering cans.

“Is it all right?”

“To be happy? Yes.”

She rested her head on my arm.

“I like our house,” she said. “I like it when Eli comes over. I like that Ruth lets me help cook even when I spill things.”

“She says I spill more.”

“You do.”

I smiled. She was right.

“I’m glad you have all of that,” I told her.

“Do you?”

“I do. I have you. I have them. I’ve been learning how to let people help me.”

She picked at the edge of the flower paper.

“Mom wanted you beside her.”

“I know.”

“You’re beside me now.”

I put my arm around her. A year ago, she had needed Eli to cross a crowded ballroom before she could say a word. Today she had asked for what she wanted, brought flowers for her mother, and told me she felt happy. I was grateful she felt safe enough to do all three.

Eli called us over to the new table. It had been built from Grace’s plans, with a low shelf where children could keep their tools. Sophie had painted a small orange fox near one leg. She pointed it out to me.

“I see it,” I said.

“Eli painted the tail.”

“I can tell. It’s huge.”

“It looks better that way,” Eli said.

Marisol set a watering can down and joined us. I thanked her again for bringing Eli to the wedding. She shook her head.

“We came because he remembered his friend,” she said.

Sophie took Eli’s hand.

“I remember him too.”

We worked in the garden until lunchtime. Ruth called everyone to the table. Rachel made room for two children who had arrived with their grandmother. Sophie passed them the last of the strawberries and showed them where to wash their hands.

After lunch, she asked if we could paint our gate blue.

“We can choose the paint tomorrow,” I said.

“And Eli can help?”

“If he and Marisol want to.”

Eli said yes before his mother answered. Marisol laughed and agreed.

That evening, after everyone left, Sophie and I walked home carrying the empty flower paper. The gate still needed paint. Our beans needed tying to the fence. Inside, there were dishes in the sink and Ruth’s leftover pancakes in the fridge.

Sophie stopped at our front step.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t feel scared to go inside anymore.”

I looked at her standing beneath the porch light, certain of where she belonged.

“I’m glad,” I said.

She opened the door and held it for me. I followed her into our warm kitchen, where Grace’s photograph stood beside the window. Sophie put the empty paper in the bin, took my hand, and led me to the table so we could plan what we would plant next.