I placed the recorder in a labeled envelope with the documents my attorney told me to retain, then returned to the living room.

Harper was practicing the cello there.

The instrument was nearly as tall as she was when she sat, and the first notes sounded like a door complaining on its hinges.

She frowned, tried again, and made it through four measures without stopping.

I clapped before she could tell me not to.

“Mom,” she said, laughing, “it wasn’t even the whole song.” “I know,” I told her.

“I liked that part anyway.” She rolled her eyes, then began again.