That is a kind of love that outlives the body.

My father reached across the boundary of his own death to protect me, not through anything mystical, but through the plain accumulated foresight of a man who loved his daughter enough to prepare, for years, for dangers he hoped would never come.

One of them came.

He was ready.

He had been ready the whole time.

I will spend the rest of my life trying to love my own daughter half that well.

Chapter 8 — Every Second