I do know she left the county in the spring, and that her sister still lives here, and that when I ran into the sister at the pharmacy in June she told me Claire has a job in Ohio doing scheduling for a dental group and that she is all right, mostly, on the days she doesn’t think about it.

Emily wrote her one letter. I have never asked what was in it and I never will.

What I will say is this. My daughter’s life was saved by a woman I had already decided about, who did four correct things in nine seconds in a kitchen — checked her breathing, photographed the room, sent the picture to the one contact that would move a father, and drove.

And then did the fifth thing wrong, which was leaving, and has paid for that one and not the other four.

That is the part I keep. The world will let you settle up for your worst nine seconds and never once ask about the rest.

In February, Emily came over on a Saturday morning with a post-hole digger in the back of her car.