At the sound of his voice, Daisy burrowed deeper into me, her small hands clutching my sweatshirt like I might disappear.
The rejection was silent but absolute.
Jack's hand dropped as if burned. He took a physical step back, his face crumpling for just a second before he locked it down. The pain that flashed across his features was so stark I had to look away.
"Let's just sit for a minute, okay?" I said, carrying her into the room. I sat in the large armchair in the corner, settling Daisy sideways in my lap, keeping her cocooned. Jack hovered in the doorway, a lost silhouette.
"You don't have to talk," I whispered to Daisy, rocking gently. "You don't have to use your words. Just breathe with me, okay? In... and out..." I took exaggerated, slow breaths, feeling her little rib cage begin to synchronize with mine.
After a few minutes, the violent trembling subsided. Her grip on my sweatshirt loosened. She was listening.
"Was it a scary dream?" I asked softly.
She nodded against my neck.
"Do you want to tell me about it? Sometimes saying it out loud makes the scary go away."
She was silent for so long I thought she wouldn't answer. Then, a tiny, shattered whisper. "Mommy."
The word hung in the dark room. I felt Jack stiffen in the doorway.
"You dreamed about your mommy?"
Another nod. A fresh, silent tear slid onto my collarbone. "Sh… Sh… She was reading. On my bed." Daisy's voice was barely there. "Like before. With the animal voices."
A shaky breath.
"Then she... she put the book down. And..." Another pause, longer. "... left. She didn't... she didn't say goodbye."
The grief in her simple description crushed the air from my lungs. It wasn't a nightmare about monsters. It was a nightmare about abandonment. The pain of knowing I didn’t save her mother, I could’ve donesomething. I loved Daisy, and I ached to help for reasons I just couldn’t explain to her.
"Oh, Daisy," I breathed, my own eyes stinging. "That sounds so sad and so scary."
"She left," Daisy whispered, the confusion and betrayal unbearable.
"Your mommy didn't want to leave. She loves you more than anything." I glanced up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. "You see those stars? During the day, when the sun is up, can you see them?"
Daisy shook her head slightly.
"But they're still there, right? They're always there, even when we can't see them." I pressed a gentle hand over her heart. "Your mommy's love is like that. It's stuck right here. Forever. You just can't see it with your eyes. You have to feel it with your heart."
She looked up at me then, her gaze searching mine, needing to believe it. "Always?"
"Always and always," I promised, my throat tight.
Her eyes slid past me to the doorway, to her father's silent, anguished form. She looked back at me, uncertainty flickering across her small face. Then she held out one small hand toward him.
It was an olive branch. A plea.
Jack crossed the room slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal. He knelt beside the chair, his eyes never leaving his daughter's face.
"Daddy's here," he said, his voice rough. "I'm not going anywhere. Ever."
Daisy studied him for a long moment. Her grayeyes, so much like his, searched his face, looking for something. A promise, maybe. Or proof that he meant it.
Then, slowly, she reached out. Her small hand found his larger one, fingers wrapping around two of his. She held us both, linking us in her tiny, powerful grasp.
"Can you stay?" she whispered, looking from him to me. "
