My Daughter Was 15 When She Finally Looked Me in the Eye and Whispered, “I Don’t Tell Dad When I’m Hurting Anymore. He Says I Only Do It for Attention.” The Next Afternoon, I Checked Her Out of School and Drove Her to the Hospital Without a Word to My Husband. Halfway Through the Scan, the Technician Went Completely Quiet.

Some days we played cards.

Other days she sat at the kitchen counter making careful pencil sketches of everyday objects: a spoon, a houseplant, Karen’s chipped blue mug.

One morning she showed me a drawing of a house with big windows and a little garden.

There were two people sitting on the front steps, neither one drawn far from the other.

“Is this our new house?” I asked her.

“Maybe,” she said.