The Kane family had always measured time in seasons—hockey seasons, life seasons, the slow turning of years that brought new joys and gentle goodbyes.

It was early spring, the kind where snow lingered in shady spots but the air carried the promise of green. Rowan Kane, now seventy-one, stood on the edge of the backyard rink he’d flooded one last time, watching his grandchildren chase pucks under the string lights that had glowed for over forty years.

The ice was ...