Through the first week.

Through the first “Daddy, when’s Mommy coming back?” asked with a stuffed bunny clutched in a fist.

A month later, it was clear she wasn’t.

So, I learned fast.

I learned how to braid hair.

Not well at first. The early versions were lumpy things that looked like I’d been assembling rope blindfolded. But Emma would sit on a kitchen chair, tiny legs swinging, and say, “It’s beautiful, Daddy,” even when it absolutely was not.