I believed in preparation, in knowing where every beam was placed and every nail driven. I believed that if you planned carefully enough, you could prevent almost any disaster before it ever happened.
Ironically, the only structure in my life I assumed was completely secure was the one I never thought to question.
My family.
My wife Natalie and I had been married for nine years.
We had one child, Lucy, who had recently turned seven and possessed the kind of watchful, thoughtful personality that made adults forget she was still very young.
Lucy was the sort of kid who noticed things.
She noticed when neighbors argued behind closed doors.
She noticed when a bird’s nest appeared in the same tree two springs in a row.
She noticed when people’s smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes.
Which is why I should have taken her seriously the moment she spoke.
