"I..." My head couldn’t find the right words. "That's complicated, sweetheart."
"Grown-ups always say that." She yawned again, snuggling deeper into her pillows. "But it's not. You love someone, or you don't."
Impressive, as always, the clarity of children in what really matters.
"Get some rest," I managed. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She closed her eyes, the stuffed sloth clutched against her chest, and within moments her breathing had evened into sleep.
I sat there in the quiet, holding her hand, watching her small chest rise and fall. The afternoon light slanted through the window, painting everything gold.
Footsteps in the hallway. The soft squeak of shoes on linoleum. Coming closer.
My heart began to pound.
It was still a lot for me to bear, so before he could come too close to the door, I rushed out of the hospital room. Not bothering to look back and confirm if it was him.
But as I walked away, I knew, with a certainty that terrified me, that whatever came next would change everything.
17.Nathaniel
The morning I finally destroyed my marriage, I spent an hour watching my daughter breathe.
Seven days. That's how long it had been since Claire walked out of my study. Seven days since the hearing that had shattered her in public. Seven days of silence from the one person whose voice I desperately needed to hear.
Millie's hospital room had become my second home. The nurses knew my coffee order. The night security guard nodded at me like an old friend. I'd memorized every beep of her monitors, every hitch in her breathing, every small sound she made in her medicated sleep.
"Daddy?" Her voice was barely a whisper, rough from disuse.
I leaned forward immediately, taking her small hand. "I'm here, pumpkin. I'm right here."
Her eyes fluttered open. They were clouded with exhaustion, pain, and what looked too much like defeat for a seven-year-old.
"Is today the court day?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Today's the day."
"Will the judge make Aunt Victoria go away?"
The hope in her voice was unbearable. "That's what we're hoping for."
She was quiet for a moment, her fingers tightening weakly around mine. The concussion had left her easily fatigued, and her broken arm and ribs made every movement a careful negotiation with pain. My vibrant, laughing daughter had been reduced to this, a pale shadow who slept eighteen hours a day and flinched at loud noises.
"Daddy?" Her voice was smaller now.
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"Is Miss Claire coming back?"
She'd asked it every day since Claire's brief visit after her hospital confrontation with Victoria. Every day, I'd given her the same inadequate answer.
"I don't know, sweetheart. I hope so."
"I miss her." Millie's eyes were closing again, the brief conversation already draining her. "She promised she wouldn't leave."
