I would have been glad, years later, to find them gathered dust, unused, evidence of a fear that turned out to be unfounded.

But I had a two-year-old whose safety could not be left to hope, and I had learned, over two years, that the adults responsible for her could not be entirely relied upon — and in that situation, preparation is not cynicism.

It is love, doing the unglamorous, unsentimental work that love sometimes requires: making sure that if the worst comes, the child will not pay for her mother’s lack of a plan.

The bag was ready because I loved my daughter enough to face a possibility I desperately hoped was wrong.