He stared at the countertop. “We think it’s best.”

“For whom?”

“Everyone.”

The word settled heavily between us. I remembered the day Daniel was born, red-faced and furious, one tiny fist raised beside his cheek. His first day of kindergarten, when he wouldn’t let go of my hand.

Sleepless nights beside his bed during fevers, Halloween costumes sewn after midnight, extra alterations taken so he could go to summer camp with his friends.

He was my only child, and for years that had been the key to every locked place in my heart. If he needed something, I found a way to give it. Now he stood inside a home supported by my money and calmly explained that life would improve if I left it.