I think maybe I’m a bad mother. I’ve been sitting here in the kitchen for two hours just looking at the tea kettle and I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve done. My daughter—she’s so smart, so much smarter than I ever was—she got this offer. It’s a job in Singapore. I don’t even know where that is on a map, really, but the money... it’s more than I’ve made in the last ten years of selling my sketches at the weekend market. And she’s not going. She told me yesterday she’s going to turn it down and stay here in this drafty house with me. I should have told her to go.