I had kept it because one day somebody might ask whether I had tried.

Three days before the wedding, Chloe had asked me that question without using those words.

She had stood in my kitchen holding invoices, read her mother’s message, and looked toward the cupboard where the box was stored.

“Dad,” she said, “I need it.”

PART 2 — The Door She Closed

The night Elena left, Chloe stood barefoot on the stairs.

She was thirteen, old enough to understand more than I wanted her to hear and too young to be asked to carry any of it.

Stella was eight.