I was walking past the edge of a building when, for just a moment, everything lined up.

A narrow strip of sunset appeared beneath the heavy sky, exactly where the railing met the horizon. Had I been a few steps ahead or a few steps behind, I would have missed it.

My dad was an engineer.

He believed in precision—in calculations made carefully enough that things arrived exactly where they were supposed to be.

Standing there, looking at that impossibly precise little opening of light, I couldn’t help thinking of him.

Maybe it was simply sunset and timing.

But for that moment, it felt as though Dad had done the calculations and gotten me to exactly the right place at exactly the right time.

I looked toward heaven and whispered,

Thank you, Dad.

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