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

”

“I’m here.”

“Do I have to take quiet candy tomorrow?”

I lean over her bed.

“No.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

She thinks about that.

Then she whispers, “Can I be loud?”

My chest aches so sharply I press my hand over it.

“Yes, baby.”

Her eyes drift toward Andrew.

“Daddy?”

He lifts his head.

“You can be loud,” he says, voice breaking. “You can be silly and mad and messy and continue reading …