part 2 My 8-year-old daughter sent me a text saying, “DAD, COME TO MY ROOM. JUST YOU.”—then she turned around ana and showed me the maddon handprints covering her back 1
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The living room, the staircase, the piano recital program resting on the coffee table—everything faded into the background as Chloe’s words echoed in my head. “Grandpa Richard.” My father-in-law. The man who brought her gifts on every birthday. The man who proudly sat through every school concert….