Afterward, we ate lunch beneath the shade. Amelia had fries, lemonade, and a birthday cupcake topped with one candle. Halfway through the meal, she reached into our bag, pulled out one of the juice boxes, and slid it across the table toward me.

“Emergency,” she said.

I laughed so hard I nearly cried.

Later, Denise mailed us a copy of the photograph.

I did not look young.

I did not look glamorous.

I looked happy.

And beside me, Amelia looked safe.

That was enough.

That evening, after the long drive home, Amelia curled beside me on the couch in her pajamas, still carrying the faint smell of chlorine and sunscreen.

“Did you have fun on my birthday?” she asked.

I smiled. “I did.”

I brushed the hair back from her forehead.

“Watching you stand up for me.”

She considered that for a moment. Then she rested against me and said, “You help me all the time. Today I helped you.”

I held her close.

Brooke had made me want to leave.

Amelia reminded me that we were still one team.