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She had raised him to be independent, but she hadn't realized he would use that independence to rebuild her world. One evening, as the golden hour light spilled across the newly glassed-in porch, Arthur set down his tools. He turned to her, dust on his cheek, and held out a hand.

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It started with the loose step on the porch, a hazard his mother, Elena, had joked about for years. Then came the leaky faucet, the garden fence, and finally, the renovation of the sunporch. Elena would watch him from the doorway, a cup of tea in her hands, her eyes tracing the muscles in his back as he worked. She had raised him to be independent, but