“I’ll get a cab home,” Sarah said. “Go. Get her somewhere safe.”
I wanted to argue, wanted to insist she come with us, but Lily needed to leave now. Needed to be away from the noise and the lights and whatever memories they’d triggered.
I got in the driver’s seat. The drive home passed in a blur of traffic lights and turns I made automatically. Lily sat in the back seat staring straight ahead—not speaking, not crying, just seeing something I couldn’t see.
I kept checking the rearview mirror, kept trying to find words that might bring her back. Nothing came.
At home, Mrs. Pearson took one look at Lily and immediately went into crisis mode. She ran a bath while I carried Lily upstairs. Got her pajamas ready. Spoke in quiet, soothing tones that didn’t require responses.
I tucked her into bed and sat on the edge of her mattress, not sure what to say. Not sure if there was anything to say that would matter.
“Daddy?”
Her voice was so small it barely reached me.
“I’m here, baby.”
“Did Mommy die because I wanted to dance?”
The question knocked every bit of air from my lungs. I stared at my daughter, at her small face looking up at me with eyes that held too much understanding for someone her age.
“What?”
“That day. We were going to ballet. And then the accident happened.” She was speaking slowly, carefully, like she’d been thinking about this for a long time. “Maybe if I hadn’t wanted to go to ballet, Mommy would still be here.”
I slid off the bed and knelt in front of her, taking her small hands in mine.
“No.” My voice came out fierce—almost angry at myself for ever letting her believe that. I felt like a failure. “No, Lily. Listen to me. What happened to Mommy wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t because of ballet. It wasn’t because of anything you did.”
“But we were going?—”
“It was an accident.” I squeezed her hands gently, trying to communicate through touch what words couldn’t carry. “A terrible accident that had nothing to do with you wanting to dance. Mommy loved taking you to ballet. She loved watching you dance. She was happy that day, Lily. Happy to be with you.”
Tears started rolling down her cheeks, fast and hot. “I really liked dancing today. Before the cameras came. I liked it so much. But I don’t want Mommy to be gone. Maybe if I hadn’t wanted to go that day?—”
“Baby, no.” I pulled her into my arms, held her tight against my chest. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She cried into my shoulder, her small body shaking with sobs that had probably been building for two years. “I miss Mommy.”
“I know. I miss her too.” My own eyes burned, tears building behind them that I didn’t try to stop. “Every single day, I miss her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.” I pulled back enough to look at her face, to make sure she could see me clearly. “Mommy would want you to dance. She’d want you happy. She’d want you doing all the things that make you smile. Do you understand?”
Lily nodded, but fresh tears spilled over.
“I love you so much,” I said, pulling her close again. “You are the best thing your mother and I ever made. And she’s still here, Lily. In you. In your smile. In the way you dance. She’s still here.”
We stayed like that for a long time, holding each other.
Eventually, Lily’s tears slowed. Her breathing evened out. She pulled back and looked at me with red, puffy eyes.
“Can I still dance?” she whispered, as if afraid the answer might break her.
“You can do whatever you want. It makes me happy, and your mother would be so proud to watch you.”
“Okay.” She nodded slowly, processing.
