I took my daughters to Manhattan.

I hired a car from the terminal.

We drove from Queens into the city and I sat in the back with a five-year-old on either side of me and Evelyn in front, and at about half past eleven I walked into the twenty-second floor of a building on Madison Avenue holding two children by the hand.

That was the worst decision of my adult life and I am going to spend this part explaining why, because at the time it felt like the only decent thing available.

Evelyn asked me not to.