Angel's room is dark but the light from the other room is bright enough that I can see inside. She's lying on the bed. I don't think she's crying. My weight sinks into the mattress and I move my hand to her head, smoothing away wispy strands of hair. "We'd like you to come downstairs and sit with us."

She rolls over and grabs my hand. Her eyes are desperate and she looks on the verge of crying again. "I love you," she says simply.

Her words sing through my heart. This ...