Dad stood behind us, pretending to inspect the new lock so we wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

A few weeks later I found my wedding ring in a kitchen drawer — I’d forgotten Dad had picked it up from the table after I walked out.

I held it for a quiet moment. Once it had meant a promise; later it had meant how long I’d stayed silent.

I didn’t throw it away. I sold it, and used the money to open an emergency savings account in my own name, and made the first deposit.

On the anniversary of the day we left, Dad came to pick up Ruby for the weekend.

She ran to him with her backpack, her rabbit, and a bag full of snacks.