She came downstairs at about ten at night and stood in the doorway of my study with the laptop against her chest and said, “Mom. Is this me?”

I want to record what I did in the following ninety seconds, because it was wrong and because I did it fast and without thinking, which is how you find out what you actually are.

I said, “Where did you get that?”

Not are you all right. Not come here. I asked her where she got it, in the voice I use on the phone with banks, and I watched my daughter’s face change.

“That’s your work voice,” she said.

“Phoebe—”