The words hit me like a system reboot.
People can’t forgive you if they don’t understand.
That’s it. That’s the whole problem.
I’ve been waiting for Audrey to solve me like a puzzle—to read between the lines, to somehow figure it out on her own. But she can’t forgive what she doesn’t understand. And she can’t understand what I won’t explain.
An eight-year-old just diagnosed my entire romantic dysfunction in ten seconds flat.
“Some things are hard to explain,” I say finally, but the words feel hollow now. An excuse I’m not sure I believe anymore.
Michaela considers this with unsettling intensity. “Is she pretty? The person you like?”
“Very.”
“Is she smart?”
“Smarter than me, probably.”
“Then she’ll understand.” Michaela says it with absolute confidence. “Smart people are good at understanding things. That’s what makes them smart.”
I want to argue. I want to explain that intelligence doesn’t automatically translate to emotional generosity. That understanding something intellectually isn’t the same as accepting it. That Audrey might understand perfectly well and still decide I’m not worth the trouble.
But I don’t. Because this eight-year-old obviously has more faith in people than I do. And maybe that’s not naivety. Maybe that’s wisdom I’ve forgotten how to access.
“She’s not smarter than me, though?” Michaela adds.
I smile despite myself. “I don’t think anyone’s smarter than you.”
With a curt nod, she shifts to watching her swinging feet. “Except maybe dolphins. Did you know they sleep with only half of their brain?”
“I read that. It’s called unihemispheric slow-wave sleep.”
She lifts her head and gives me a bright smile. “I knew you’d know the big name for it. We’re doing a class project on animal intelligence this term. So far we’ve covered dogs and now dolphins.”
I glance at the closed door, as if I might see through the wood to where David is fighting for his kid again. “I was always a dog person, but dolphins are objectively more interesting.”
She wags a finger. “The plural is ‘delphinids.’”
“Is it really?”
“In science, it is.”
“Then I stand corrected.” I fold my hands. “So what’s the main argument for dogs?”
“They’re loyal. They never run away even if you yell. Dolphins sometimes leave their pods. But dogs don’t. Unless you’re a bad owner or there’s bacon.”
“That tracks,” I say, and for a minute, the world rights itself. “Are you nervous about what happened today?”
She shrugs, but there’s a heaviness in her little shoulders. “I guess. I used to always wish I had a mom like the other kids. But now, I think it would be weird.” She goes back to kicking her feet again, thinking. “It was weird seeing her. Like, it felt like I should remember her, but there was just nothing up in my brain about her. She said she was going to take me to live with her. That was a bit worrisome. But I knew I wouldn’t have to.”
“How did you know?”
She shrugs again, pulling at the end of her braid. “My dad said if anyone ever came that I didn’t trust, I had to find Ms. Patel and tell her first. He said he’s the only one who gets to decide. And so I did.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. I wish I’d ever once had that kind of faith in a parent.
“That was smart,” I tell her. “You did exactly the right thing.”
