That is the thing about a gift like his: it is also a warning, and you cannot accept the one without hearing the other.

For three years I chose not to hear it.

And then I stood in a doorway and watched a necklace catch the light on another woman’s throat, and I went home and dug my father’s warning out from under a pile of my daughter’s outgrown toys, and I finally, four years too late to thank him, let him be right.

I have wished so many times that I could tell him.