Paris is as wet and grey as New York had been, although somehow it feels worse because the eternal grey cloud that always shadows me here, hits as soon as we emerge from our plane. Arry holds my hand and doesn’t let go; always there, always holding me up and back in our apartment we waste no time in doing a walk through to argue over what we are sending back home.

In the morning he’s coming with me to school; he called them as soon as we got home and arranged a meeting with the head of department … Mr. Carrero. in full business mode, ready to take my...