“I see Meghan coming out of the hallway. I don’t remember for sure what she was wearing, but for some reason, I see her in this pair of jeans and a turquoise sweater she always wore.” “How old is your daughter?” “Ten days shy of sixteen. And she stops in front of the coffee table—I know this happened for sure—and she’s standing between me and the television with her hands on her hips and this quasi-severe look on her face.” Tears fill in at the edges of his eyes. “It’s still incredibly emotional for you,” the man says. “This is good.” “Please,” Barry says. “Don’t make me do this.” “Continue.”
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