I was chopping vegetables when my four-year-old daughter

someone knew what to do.”

That answer hurts because it is honest.

I sit beside Emma and stroke her curls back from her damp forehead. She is watching us, and I force my voice to soften.

“We both failed to ask the right questions.”

Andrew flinches.

Then he nods.

“Yes.”

His phone buzzes.

He looks down.

His whole body goes rigid.

“What?”

He turns the screen toward continue reading …