beneath her eyes faded into the ease of childhood.
One afternoon, Lily sat at the low wooden coffee table in our new living room, a fresh box of crayons spread out before her. She was drawing a house under a giant, golden sun with three stick figures holding hands in the front yard.
I sat down on the carpet beside her, leaning against the couch.
She paused, laid down a blue crayon, and leaned into my shoulder.
”Daddy?” she asked quietly.
”Yes, baby?”
”Are you going on any more trips?”
I wrapped both arms around her, kissing the top of her head, and pulled her in tight.
”Never again,” I said. “From now on, wherever you and Owen are, that’s where I work, and that’s where I stay.”
Lily let out a long breath, picked up her crayon, and went back to coloring the sky. For the first time in
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