"Your mommy didn't leave," I said, my voice rough. "She didn't choose to go. She died. That's different."
"Dead is still gone."
I couldn't argue with that. She was right. Gone was gone, regardless of the reason.
"Emma's not gone," I tried. "She's just?—"
"She's gone from us." Sarah's voice was flat, matter-of-fact in a way that broke me. "That's the same thing."
That night, I tried everything. Puzzles, games, and checking the hives. She rejected it all with the same hollow indifference.
"Want to finish our puzzle? We're so close to done."
"No, thank you."
"We could read an extra chapter tonight."
"I don't feel like it."
"What do you feel like doing?"
She looked at me with eyes that seemed decades older than six. "Nothing. Everything's dumb."
I sat on the couch, watching her listlessly flip through a picture book without actually looking at the pages. The cabin felt cavernous despite its small size. Empty in a way that had nothing to do with square footage.
After she finally fell asleep, I sat on the porch with my phone. The stars were out, the same stars Emma and I had kissed under, but they looked cold now. Distant.
I opened my messages. Emma's name stared up at me. I started typing.
Cole
Sarah asked why you don't like her anymore. She told a classmate that everyone leaves. She's hurting. We're both hurting. Please don't let fear win.
My thumb hovered over send.
She'd asked for space. Real space. I'd promised to respect that.
But Sarah was falling apart. Every day without Emma was teaching her that love was dangerous, that caring about people only led to pain. She was building the same walls Emma had, and she was only six years old.
I stared at the message for a long time.
Then I deleted it, letter by letter, watching the words disappear.
She'd asked for space. I had to trust that she'd find her way back. Forcing my way in would only push her further away.
But God, it was hard. The hardest thing I'd ever done.
The weekend was brutal. Sarah barely spoke. She ate when I made her, slept when I put her to bed, and existed without really living. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror on Sundaymorning and barely recognized myself; unshaved, hollow-eyed, looking like I'd aged ten years in two weeks.
Monday, I found Sarah in the kitchen before school, standing in front of the refrigerator.
"Whatcha doing, kiddo?"
"Looking at the pictures."
I walked over. The photos on the fridge door, Sarah's artwork, a snapshot of her with the bees, and one photo I'd forgotten was there. The three of us at Sarah's birthday party. Emma laughing, Sarah grinning, and me looking at them like they were the center of my universe.
Because they were.
