I did not do it because he ever asked politely, and I certainly did not do it because I had money to waste. I did it because my daughter once placed her palm on my forearm the way she always did when she wanted my full attention, and she said softly, “Dad, promise me something. Promise me that Ava will be safe and cared for no matter what happens.”
My daughter’s name was Melissa Grant.
She was my only child. Melissa had been the kind of little girl who apologized to the family dog if she accidentally stepped on his paw, and she grew into the kind of woman who baked extra pies during the holidays just so the elderly couple across the street would not feel forgotten. If anyone deserved a long peaceful life filled with scraped knees, gray hair, and grandchildren racing across her backyard, it was Melissa.
Seven years ago she died on Highway 24.