My husband stopped at the bakery to get some bread, and his phone was connected to the car radio. A message from “Marek the Plumber” flashed across the screen: “You left your glasses by my bed. I’ll bring them back on Thursday.”

All I know is that when I go to the bakery on Ozimska Street on Saturday, I buy two rolls instead of four. And a cheese bun, if there’s one. And her brown glasses now sit on the dresser in Agnieszka’s room, always in the same place.

No one has to look for them anymore.