That is the detail that undid me.

She was chatting.

My daughter came out of the mudroom in her jacket and did not chat back.

She walked to the black SUV with her arms straight down at her sides.

Corinne opened the rear door.

And my seven-year-old daughter climbed in, and then — without being asked, without a word, in a motion so practiced that it took less than three seconds — lay down flat across the back seat, face toward the seat back, with her knees drawn up.

I have been asked what I felt at that moment and the honest answer is that I do not remember feeling anything.