Instead, I rested my palm against the cold wood one last time.
“I’m sorry Daddy wasn’t here.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Then I corrected myself.
“No.”
I wiped away rain.
“That wasn’t mine to apologize for.”
It was my first clear thought in four days.
David’s absence was his responsibility.
So were his decisions.
And his cruelty.
I refused to spend my life disguising his failures as love.
That afternoon, I returned home.
A four-million-dollar monument of limestone, glass, white oak, marble, and silence.
David had insisted on buying it three years earlier.
He loved the status of its address.
The circular driveway, heated garage, wine room, gym, and enormous windows overlooking the ravine.
Lily loved just one feature.
Her bedroom window seat.
I sat there until evening.
Her stuffed rabbit lay on the pillow.
A library book rested open, facedown, beside the bed.
I picked
