But so was this uncomfortable truth: Richard eventually did the hard work, sobered up, and came back. And I decided my son was somehow safer if he never knew the door was unlocked.

For over a decade, I convinced myself that keeping that heavy door firmly bolted shut had protected Daniel from being hurt a second time. Perhaps, in some warped way, it did.

But the moment Daniel stepped into fatherhood himself, he walked over and threw that door wide open anyway.

This time around, I didn’t stand in front of it to block his way.