My daughter died two years ago; last week the school called to say she was in the principal’s office.

—She’s very upset. Please, just talk to her.

Then I heard a small, trembling voice.

—Mommy? Mommy, please come get me?

The phone slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. It was his voice.

Neil came into the kitchen holding his coffee cup. He froze when he saw my face and the phone on the tile.