Chelsea threw her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his wool sweater.

“You’re the best father in the whole world!” she yelled.

“I know how to take care of my family,” my father said, looking over her shoulder at the recording on his phone screen.

I sat on the edge of the sofa with my hands resting flat on my knees.

Neither of them looked out the window at my seven-year-old silver Toyota parked in the slush behind his truck.

“Did you get the premium package with the heated leather seats?” Chelsea asked, dropping back down onto the rug to admire the key fob.