My new neighbor asked me to fix her TV. I stood up in her half-empty apartment and found the woman who had disappeared from my life seven years ago—now living across the hall from the daughter I had raised alone.
By six-fifteen every morning, Daniel Reeves had already fixed something. Some days it was the toilet in 2B that kept running through the night. Some days it was the latch on the lobby door that stuck every time the weather turned damp. Most mornings, before any of that, it was his daughter’s hair….
