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.
“I don’t think every nice thing was pretend.
But nice memories don’t excuse dangerous choices.”
She considered that.
“Can I still remember the good ones?”
“Of course.”
She put her arms around my waist.
We stood together until the water dripping from the faucet was the only sound in the kitchen.
He wasn’t looking for Lily.