My sister dumped a glass of wine all over my six-year-old son’s birthday artwork while the room filled with laughter. Mom rushed to protect the tablecloth—not my child. I said nothing, until my dad suddenly stood up, removed his wedding ring, and let it fall into the pool of red. Then he pulled out a leather notebook he’d kept hidden for years… and ten minutes later…

“Mom!” he shouted. “When we’re done, can we hang it over the couch? So when we sit here, we can look up and see the lake?”

Two lakes, I thought. The real one we left behind and the one we were painting now, framed by hands that knew how to measure and cut and build.

“Yes,” I said. “We’ll put it right where we can see it.”

Because this time, I wasn’t going to let anyone pour wine on his world and tell him it was a lesson.

This time, if anyone tried, they would find out very quickly that I was not quiet anymore.