Our nanny, Rosa, who had been with us for years and was coming with us, waited by the luggage carts.

My mother had been living in Spain for six years by then, running the European side of Vega Logistics, and over the past several months she had helped me arrange every last detail of this move — the house, the schools, the paperwork, all of it.

Because this was not a desperate midnight flight, whatever Bryce would later tell people.

He had our new address.

He had court-ordered visitation.