“Mama…” Her voice is small and quiet. She doesn’t say more. She doesn’t have to.
I push from the desk, my arms opening wide for her.
She rushes forward, climbing into my lap and curling up like she’s a baby again and the weight of the world has finally caught up to her. I don’t know what caused it, but I’m not going to ask yet. She’s in no state to tell me.
Her face buries against my neck, her arms tight—too tight—andher little fingers fist the fabric of my T-shirt like she needs to keep me from disappearing.
I know this. The deep pressure she seeks. She’s spiraling and needs to feel contained. I tighten my hold on her a little more, trying to ground her. “I’ve got you,” I murmur, pressing her snug against my chest. “I’ve got you, baby.”
She doesn’t cry. But the utter panic in her eyes tells me enough. Her breathing is shallow and faster than I’d like, and her legs twitch restlessly. I adjust my arms around her. Hold tighter. Rock gently. And I match her breathing until it slows to a more normal rate and syncs with mine.
My eyes close. I don’t know how long we stay like that. At some point, I glance up to see Viktor watching us, his brow furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.
I feel a flicker of guilt. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I know I’m supposed to be working.”
He walks across to me. “Everything okay?” There’s a dangerous tilt to his voice, like he’s ready to wage war on anyone if they upset Sofia or me.
“I think so. I’m sorry. I know those invoices are important and?—”
“No, they’re not,” he interrupts, nodding toward Sofia. “She’s what is important right now. She needs you.”
My throat tightens, and I blink rapidly to banish any tears. No judgment. No impatience. Just his calm understanding.
Finally, once she’s been calm for a few minutes, Viktor crouches beside us, a hand lightly pressed to Sofia’s arm. Not pushing or pressing, just a calm offering to help soothe her.
Sofia, still clinging, glances down at him. Her gaze lingers a moment before it softens. “Hi, Viktor,” she whispers.
“Hi there, little bird,” he replies.
She smiles, just a twitch at the corner of her mouth, but I see it. And I melt a little more.
We stay like that for another twenty minutes before Sofia says she wants to go back to Babulya and Leon in the den.
I’m reluctant to let her go and kiss the top of her head. “If you need to come back, I’ll be right here.”
Sofia nods as she slides from my lap and pads out of the room. I exhale softly.
Viktor straightens, watching her leave before looking back at me. “Does she always ask for hugs when she’s upset?”
I nod. “It’s how she regulates when things get to be too much. Her sensory system gets overwhelmed. The only things that help are big bear hugs. Anything that makes her feel compressed and anchored.”
He nods, slow and thoughtful. I can see the gears turning behind his eyes.
“She’s autistic too,” I say after a moment. I’m pretty sure Viktor already realized this was what I was referring to when we spoke at the rink. It’s not really a confession. Just a fact we live with. Sofia isn’t broken or wrong. Just different. And I love her for this. And I’ll defend that until my dying days. “Sometimes, emotions are hard for her to understand and deal with. Change and transitions are difficult too. Loud noises, busy places, different textures—the sensory signals from all those things just add up to be too much for her brain to cope with at times. But I don’t have to tell you about sensory overload, huh?”
He nods. “No, you don’t. But it makes sense.” His expression softens. And I know he understands her in a way I never will.
“I want to tell her,” I admit softly, “about her autism. We haven’t really talked about it explicitly because she was too young before to really understand. But I just don’t want her to think there’s something wrong. She knows she’s different. But she’s not broken or built wrong.”
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “She’s not. And maybe telling her will help her understand things better.”
“Maybe. But I want her to know anyway. I just don’t quite know how to explain it. I want her to be proud of who she is.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then nods. “You’ll find a way when the time is right.”
Viktor hands me a book a few days later. I glance at the title on the cover:All Cats Have Autism. My eyebrows shoot up in a mixture of surprise and confusion.
“I remembered seeing this book online once,” Viktor explains. “It’s described as being a way to explain autism to children. You could take a look.”
