The Day I Dropped My Husband at the Airport, My Eight-Year-Old Daughter Warned Me Not to Go Home. Minutes Later, I Saw Why.

Lily stood in the doorway of the smaller bedroom and pointed to a patch of sunlight on the carpet.

“My desk could go there.”

“Good idea.”

“And maybe a bookshelf.”

“We can find one.”

“Can I paint a picture to put on the door?”

“Any picture you want.”

She chose it before I had finished checking the storage space.