At a traffic light she whispered, “Daddy, I tried to be good.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Brenda said I was bad because I asked about Mommy Claire.”

The words knocked the air out of me.

“What did you ask?”

“I wanted to know if Mommy Claire liked marigolds.

Brenda said talking about her made our new family sad.”

I looked out the window, trying to compose myself.