Dad’s retirement gala had been planned for months. Forty-two years with the engineering firm, partner since 2001, the kind of career people toast with champagne and engraved watches. I’d RSVP’d yes the day the invitation arrived. I’d even sent a card ahead of time with a handwritten note inside:
*Dad — So proud of everything you’ve built. Can’t wait to celebrate you. Love, Harper & Lily*
I still have the carbon copy of that card in my desk drawer.
We walked through the marble lobby. Lily’s small hand in mine. Her shoes clicking softly. My heels clicking louder. The double doors to the ballroom were cracked open — just enough for sound to leak out: laughter, clinking glasses, a string quartet playing something classical and tasteful.
And then I heard her voice.
