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.

We would need patience, honest answers, and probably help beyond what Rachel or I could provide.

On the drive back, Lily asked whether she had passed the interview.

“It wasn’t a test,” I told her.

“You told what you remembered.

That’s enough.”

“What if I forgot something important?”

“Then it can wait.

You are not responsible for solving this.”