Part of the proceeds established the Nora Grant for women rebuilding careers after being unfairly pushed out.

That was the public conclusion.

The real ending came later.

One Saturday morning, I was making blueberry pancakes when Jeremy entered the kitchen and sat at the table.

He watched me for a moment.

Then, quietly but clearly, he asked, “Did Janice like these better than the pie?”

I nearly dropped the spatula.

I turned toward him. “Yes,” I whispered. “She did.”

He nodded.

Then he said, “I remember.”

I set the spatula aside and sat beside him.

For eight years, remembering Janice had sounded like guilt.

That morning, it sounded like love.