I hold up a hand—it was a dumb question. “‘No’ is a perfectly acceptable answer, and I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

She nods, appearing somewhat relieved. Then, she reaches over and takes something from her desk.

“Well, here is my card. I give my contact info to every parent. If you have any questions about how Caitlyn is doing, feel free to call me.”

I tuck it into my pocket. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’ll only call if it’s an emergency.”

“Dad!”

Caitlyn bursts into the room, followed by Principal Craig.

“The playground is huge!” Caitlyn declares.

“She really liked that part of the tour,” Principal Craig says.

“I’m sure she did.”

*

After a trip to the store where we stocked up on food and copious amounts of school supplies, we’re driving back to the Nightingale House.

“So, did you like the school?” I ask.

“Yep,” Caitlyn absent-mindedly answers.

“Did you like Ms. Hancourt?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, gazing out the window. “She’s really pretty.”

“Yes, she is,” I reply and freeze.

It was a simple statement of fact, nothing more, but I have never spoken about another woman in front of Caitlyn and I’m worried she won’t understand.

I glance sideways at her. She continues to stare out the window, watching the trees blur by.

Thankfully, my statement appears to have blurred by her, as well, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I wasn’t just worried about how she would react. It’s true that I’ve never spoken about another women in front of Caitlyn before, but this is also the first time that I’ve said that I found a woman attractive since Nicole died.

In the grand scheme of things, I know it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t ogling her or being a creep. She is attractive, but for a second, I’m overwhelmed with guilt; like there’s a brick tied around my heart, pulling it down.

I take another glance at Caitlyn, who is still staring out the window. It’s a bigger deal for me than it is for her. As I turn to look back at the road, my eyes brush past the rearview mirror to see Nicole staring at me from the backseat.

I gasp.

My hand slips on the wheel.

For a terrifying instant, we drift into the opposite lane. I grip the wheel and pull us back, but I almost pull too hard, sending us off the road. I’m able to get us back in our lane and avoid any disasters.

The whole episode is over in seconds, but my teeth are on edge and adrenalin is coursing through my veins. The moment I’ve got control of the car, I check the rearview mirror. The back seat is empty.

“Dad?”