At eight-thirty I took Sophie up to her room before the chocolate frosting could harden on her knuckles.

She crawled into her twin bed beneath her pink quilt and pulled her stuffed velvet dog up under her chin.

“Is Dad going to play the monster board game with me tomorrow?” she asked, her blue eyes wide in the gentle glow of her frog nightlight.

“Maybe,” I said quietly, sitting down on the side of her mattress.

“He’s been putting in really long hours at work lately, sweetie.”

“He played zero games with me all week,” she said, winding a long strand of hair around her middle finger.