Then the first notes began.

Chloe came toward me.

I looked at her hand before taking it.

I had held that hand at crossings, in crowded shops, on the way into schools, and once while she lay awake asking a question I could not answer.

Now she was asking me onto a dance floor.

“Dad.”

I stood.

My legs felt uncertain, not because of age or exhaustion but because I had spent so much of the exchange keeping the rest of myself still.