"Why do you care?" The words exploded out of her, sharp and hot. Her small face twisted into a scowl I'd never seen before. "Nobody cares! Nobody!"
The anger hit me like a physical blow. This wasn't my Sarah. This was a hurt animal, lashing out at the nearest target.
I got up from my chair and knelt beside hers, putting myself at eye level. "I care very much. You know I do."
"Then why did Emma leave?"
"She didn't leave, sweetheart. She just?—"
"She left! She does not want to talk to me!" Sarah's voice cracked, the anger dissolving into something worse. Tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks. "She left just like mummy. I messed it up."
My heart didn't break. It shattered. Completely. Into dust.
"No, baby." I reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "No. You didn't mess anything up."
"Then why is she being so mean?"
"She's not being mean. She's being... scared."
Sarah's brow furrowed. "Scared of what?"
How do you translate years of grief and trauma and self-protection into words a child can understand?
"You know how sometimes when you get hurt, you don't want anyone to touch the owie? Even if they're trying to help?"
She nodded slowly.
"Emma has a really big owie inside. Not one you can see. And she's scared that if she lets people get close, she might get hurt again."
"But I don’t want to hurt her."
"I know, sweetheart. She knows that too. But sometimes when people are really scared, they push away the people they love the most. Because losing them would hurt the worst."
Sarah processed this, her nose scrunching up the way it did when she was thinking hard. "That doesn't make sense."
"It doesn't, does it?"
"That's really dumb."
A sound escaped me, half laugh, half sob. "Yeah. It really is."
"Grown-ups are weird."
"We really are."
She was quiet for a moment, picking at the edge of her napkin. Then, in a smaller voice: "She still loves us, right? Even if she's hurting?"
"I think she loves us very much. That's why she's so scared."
"But..." Sarah's lip trembled. "But I miss her."
I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest. "I know, baby. I miss her too."
Thursday morning was a battle.
"I don't wanna go to school," Sarah announced, arms crossed, still in her pajamas.
"You have to go to school."
