I was showing my daughter some old college photos. She was about five. We got to a picture of me and my ex, a guy I dated before I met her dad.

I thought I’d thrown it away.

She pointed at him and said, “I know him. This is the guy who gave me the bracelet at the fair.”

My stomach dropped. The fair?

It had been months since we’d gone to that tiny summer fair just outside of Millersville. One of those rickety, dusty pop-up things with overpriced cotton candy and sun-faded carnival rides. I remembered it mainly because she’d won a giant plush banana at one of those impossible games.