Jane and I were headed to bed just after 11 p.m. Friday night when an explosion that sounded like a bomb went off in the immediate vicinity of my house.

We had finished an evening brimming with total decadence: pizza, soda, video games, cartoons, cookies, laughter and smiles. Her sister, Emily, was spending the night at a friend's house for a birthday sleep-over party, and Jane was in her element: She had daddy all to herself.

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