His sigh moves through his chest, rolls against my ear, and he stops walking, sets me down. We’re outside BTI now. I keep my eyes trained on the ground, wishing I never said anything, afraid he’ll tell me the truth.

He touches my cheek and I look up. Our eyes meet. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Claire.” He pauses like he’s thinking hard about his next words. “Your mom was so young when we married.” Something darkens his face. “And her father wasn’t a good man. She had nightmares all the time and I knew she needed more help than I could give her, Claire bear, but I couldn’t afford it. So I just tried to love her. I thought it would be enough.” A breeze rushes cool over my wet cheek. “Then she got pregnant, and, well, I knew that having a baby wasn’t what she needed, that she was still too sad, too scared.” He inhales a ragged breath, and for a second I think he might cry. I look away because I don’t want to see him cry. “She chose you, Claire.” Dad wipes a tear from my cheek. “And I’ve been grateful to her every day since for being strong enough for all three of us.”

His words strengthen me, dry my tears, and I straighten my shoulders and say what I know is true. “We’re better off without her.”

I think my words take something from him, because for a moment he looks like a shell, empty and lost. Then he nods, squeezes my arm. “For now, Claire.”

I wake up to the phone buzzing against my leg, not knowing where I am and gasping for air, desperately trying to hold on to the tail end of a dream, but it drifts away and I let out a strangled sob.

Breathe in, breathe out, slow and controlled until the facts accumulate. One, I’m in Dad’s apartment; I can tell from his chair and the lingering smell of burned toast. Two, I’m wearing pink socks, which means it’s Monday, which is also Jazzercise day, and based on the workout leggings I’m wearing, I have gone or was about to go. A buzz from my phone and bingo—Shower then Lunch with Sefina. I need to go home and get ready for lunch. I stand, stretch, notice I’m wearing Dad’s flannel, but instead of taking it off, I keep it on, feeling a chill deep in my bones that is warmed by the extra layer. I’ll return it later.

Sefina’s apartment is just like mine except she lives on the fifth floor with a view of the waterfalls behind our building, and her refrigerator is covered with pictures of her girls, not Post-it notes with instructions.