That was the machinery of it, and I only saw it when it was laid end to end.

Hannah’s quietness was adjustment. The stomachaches were wedding excitement. The photographs were redecorating. The clinginess was her age.

Every single explanation was plausible.

Every single one arrived before I had a chance to form my own.

And there was one more thing on the list, at the bottom, which I did not put there until the second evening.

The whole eighteen months: Pamela never left me alone with my daughter for a whole day.