“Is — is Dad here?” she whispered.

“No, sweetie,” I said.

“It’s just me.

It’s just Mom.”

And my daughter let out a long, shaking breath, and closed her eyes, and her whole body loosened — the specific, unmistakable relief of a child who has just been told that the person she is afraid of is not in the room.

I have replayed that small moment more than almost any other, because it told me everything, before she said a single word.