And my daughter said: “Because the only version of it that exists was written by somebody else, in a hotel room, before I woke up. And I’ve read that one about a thousand times and it’s really good and it’s got everything in it except what it was actually like.”

She said, “I’m not going to post it.”

I said, “I know.”

“You can read it if you want. When it’s finished. Or not — I haven’t decided if I want you to.”

“That’s yours,” I said.

She has not offered it and I have not asked and it has been five months.