On the way home from the library, in the car. Soft music is playing on the radio; sunlight is glinting off the snow. I glance into the rear view mirror and am struck by my daughter’s profile. Her delicate features, placid beauty. She is all pink and white and petal soft, sitting in her car seat in the back as if on a throne, gazing out the window as the scenery drifts by, a quiet, thoughtful look on her face. I pull into the driveway, turn off the car. I look into the rear view mirror again, drinking in her perfection. She catches my eye and says matter-of-factly, “I really think I could kill. You know, if I was a super hero.”