And you told me to stop making things difficult for your new relationship.” Every word landed like a physical blow, because I remembered that night.

I remembered it exactly.

I had been answering emails, stressed about a multi-billion-dollar merger, half-listening, and my daughter had come to me, gathering all her nine-year-old courage, to tell me that something was wrong, and I had dismissed her cry for help as simple childhood jealousy, an inconvenience to be managed so that I could get back to my screen.

My daughter had told me the truth.