Four months after losing my 11-year-old daughter, we moved away to start over — then my 5-year-old said, “Mom, I saw Ava in the window across the street.”

Lucy was five and had worshipped her older sister.

Maren braided her hair, read bedtime stories to her, and let her sleep in her room whenever thunderstorms frightened her. For weeks after the funeral, Lucy asked when Maren was coming back.

Eventually, she stopped asking.

That frightened me almost as much.

Graham was the one who suggested we move.