I stared at my husband as though a stranger had put on his face.

Our daughter was, as far as I knew in that moment, dead — and my husband had already calculated a settlement figure, retained liability attorneys, and begun, I could see it now, to manage the public-relations damage to his career.

He had done all of that in under an hour.

He had loved our daughter, I had believed, for four years.

And in the hour since her supposed death, he had not wept.

He had drafted.