"I love you. Even if you're weird about vegetables."
"I love you too, kiddo. More than all the vegetables in the world."
She snuggled against my chest, and I held her there, watching the stars, feeling like maybe, just maybe, we might survive this after all.
Friday afternoon, I saw Emma through her classroom window as I waited for Sarah. She was standing there, watching us, and even from a distance I could see it—the pain carved into her face, the shadows under her eyes, the way she looked like she was barely holding herself together.
For a moment, our eyes met. The connection was a live wire.
Then Sarah tugged my hand, hard.
"Can we go?" Her voice was tight. "I don't wanna be here."
I let her pull me away. What else could I do?
We were at a breaking point. I could feel it. Every day without Emma was teaching Sarah that her worst fears were right, that loving people meant giving them the power to destroy you. Teaching it was safer to build walls.
She was six years old, and she was learning to be afraid of love.
I couldn't let that happen. Rebecca's daughter deserved better. She deserved to know that love was worth the risk, even when it hurt.
But I didn't know how to fix it. This wasn't a broken railing or a squeaky floorboard. I couldn't hammer my way through Emma's fear.
Just after tucking Sarah in for the night, I noticed my phone buzzing on the dining table.
I grabbed it without thinking, expecting a weather alert or spam.
Emma's name lit up the screen.
Incoming call.
My heart stopped. Then started again, hammering against my ribs.
I answered before I could second-guess myself.
"Emma?"
A shaky breath on the other end.
Then the beep signaled she had ended the call.
“Emma?”
“Emma?!!”
I tried calling her back repeatedly, but it was pointless; she had switched off her phone.
I wasn’t sure whether to consider this a good or bad sign.
17.Emma
The phone call came at 4:47 PM on a Thursday. I know because I was staring at the clock, counting the minutes until I could go home and continue my award-winning performance of "Woman Falling Apart in Private."
Maggie's name flashed on the screen. I almost didn't answer. I'd been avoiding everyone for two weeks, and I was getting really good at it.
"Hey, Maggie, I'm kind of in the middle of?—"
"Emma." Her voice stopped me cold. It was stripped of warmth, tight with something that made my stomach drop. "I need you to stay calm."
