Nothing about that departure belonged to the hallway where Elena had closed the door fifteen years before.

My daughter was leaving for a life she wanted, taking people with her rather than demanding that they disappear from the account of how she got there.

On the drive home, Maya sat beside me.

She had taken off her shoes and held them in her lap.

For a while, she looked out of the window without speaking.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes. Tired.”