“You went to Chicago.”

“I didn’t.

I stayed home.” I crossed the room.

“Come on, sweetheart.

We’re going to go.”

She looked at her mother.

That is the four seconds of that day that I would give a great deal to be able to put down and not pick up again.

My seven-year-old, in a room in Norwalk, checked with her mother about whether she was allowed to leave with me.