My husband became an organ donor as his final wish — after he d*ed, his doctor stopped me and said, “There’s something he made me promise to give you only after he was gone.”

I got out of the car.

Diane answered the door before I could knock.

She was smaller than I expected — slight, with dark circles under her eyes that spoke of the surgery and the weeks since.

But she held herself straight, and her handshake was firm.

“Come in,” she said.

“He’s in the living room.

I told him a friend of his daddy’s was coming to visit.”

The living room was warm and a little cluttered in the way that children’s spaces always are — a basket of toy cars, a stack of picture books, a drawing taped to the wall that appeared to be either a dog or a very enthusiastic cloud.

Daniel was sitting on the rug with a set of wooden blocks, building something with great concentration.

He looked up when I walked in.