The Moment I Chose My Daughter Over the Room

On the morning of my brother Ryan’s rehearsal dinner, I sat on the bathroom floor with my six-year-old daughter, Emma.

She was carefully placing small white daisy clips into her hair, asking me every few minutes if they looked “just right.” For four months, she had practiced her walk down our hallway, holding an invisible basket, taking each step seriously—as if the moment already mattered.