“I’m on Dad’s old tablet,” she explained.

“I wanted to know why you didn’t come Christmas Eve.” My first instinct was to tell her everything.

I wanted her to know about the snow, the suitcases of gifts, the closed door, the laughter on the telephone.

But she was ten years old, and her need for security mattered more than my desire to be believed.

“Honey, I came to see you,” I said carefully.

“The grown-ups had a disagreement about visiting.