In that moment, something inside me didn’t break; it hardened. Rachel had made her choice. Now, I would make mine.

The phone rang at 9:15 the next morning. It was her.

“Dad, how are you holding up?” she asked, her voice impossibly chipper.

“I’m managing,” I said flatly.

Her tone shifted, becoming the honeyed, practiced cadence she used when she wanted something. “Listen, I need a favor. We went a little overboard on our anniversary party… the credit card bills are rolling in, and we’re about $15,000 short. Could you just wire it over today? That would be such a huge relief.”