I keep thinking about that drawing. I actually asked Ms. Fontaine if I could have it back. She said yes, and she mailed it home in a folder. I have it now, sitting on my kitchen counter.

I’m not sure why I wanted it. Maybe because it’s the thing that started all of this. Maybe because I need to remember that my daughter, without knowing what she was doing, without understanding any of it, told me the truth in the only way a six-year-old knows how.

She drew him smiling. She drew him like he belonged there.

I still don’t know exactly what to do with that.