The door clicked open, and Brooklyn came in holding a half-empty juice box.

Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, the elastic slipping down toward her collar.

“Dad,” Brooklyn said, looking down at her socks.

“My stomach is making noises.”

“Let’s go downstairs,” Kevin said, reaching down to take her hand.

“They have sandwiches in the cafeteria.”

We walked down the wide stairwell together, taking the steps one at a time so I could hold the yellow handrail with both hands.

Brooklyn kept her eyes on her pink sneakers as they hit each concrete step.