My wife left me with our six daughters for a wealthy man. Fifteen years later she texted to say she’d be at our oldest daughter’s wedding — and my daughter told me to let her come, because she had already prepared a special welcome for her.

Sabina came in at about eight in the evening, during the dinner, which is a piece of timing she chose.

Sequined gown. Handbag over her forearm. And a tall silver-haired man in an expensive suit about four steps behind her, who was looking around that barn with the polite confusion of a person who has been brought somewhere without being told much.

She came straight across the floor to where I was standing with my daughter.