I reserved a private room at a high-end seafood restaurant facing the Pacific, hired an acoustic trio because Alton loved to tell people he’d grown up on classic American folk and jazz, and had menus printed in gold that read Celebrating Alton Hargrave’s 70th Birthday. And because Lindsay had promised me this was a family dinner — those were her words, a family dinner — I made sure my children were part of every piece of it.

Cruz, who is nine.

Sofia, who is seven.

That detail matters, because that same night, Lindsay’s family was going to try to seat my children in the back of the room, next to the kitchen door, as though they were something to be tolerated rather than loved.

Chapter 3 — The First Sign

The first sign came at the hotel, during check-in.