As they sat down to enjoy their handiwork, Alexandra put her arm around Sophia. "I'm so proud of you, sweetie. You're a natural at measuring. Keep practicing, and you'll be just as skilled as I am in no time."

Sophia felt the measure of a lifetime tilt slightly. She thought of the shoebox of letters and postcards, of the times she had counted out grief into five-minute intervals because a full afternoon of sorrow felt impossible. She had measured a lot in her life—bills, distances, recipes—but had mostly avoided measuring the soft stuff: the length of forgiveness, the depth of longing. Jonah's casual arithmetic made her want to try.