My four-year-old daughter, Emma, stood completely still for a moment—then suddenly rushed toward the pastor, shouting something that brought the entire room into stunned silence.

Tragedy.

Because it sounds like lightning, an accident, a blind fate.

And that wasn’t what happened to us.

Someone made a decision.

Someone mixed some powder.

Someone smiled afterwards.

Trevor asked for reconciliation afterwards, of course.

Not immediately, but several times.