"You mentioned that."
"I'm mentioning it again." He glanced at me sideways. "In case you needed reminding that you matter to her."
I didn’t, but his words did remind me how much I ached to see her. I didn't trust myself to respond.
Room 412. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear the sound of machines. My heart was hammering so hard I was pretty sure it was visible through my dress.
"Ready?" Nathaniel asked.
"No," I admitted. "But let's do it anyway."
He pushed open the door.
Millie was propped up against a fortress of pillows, her arm still in its purple cast, the bandage on her temple smaller than I remembered but still present. The stuffed sloth I'd given her was tucked under her good arm, looking appropriately confused by its hospital surroundings.
She looked so small. That was my first thought. Small and pale and fragile in a way that made my chest physically ache. The vibrant, giggling girl who'd played tag in the morning room had been replaced by this quiet, careful version, a child who'd learned too young that the world could hurt you.
Then she saw us.
Her whole face transformed.
"Daddy! Miss Claire!" The joy in her voice was pure and uncomplicated, the kind of happiness that only children can produce. "You came together!"
Nathaniel reached her first, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Hey, pumpkin. Look who I found."
"I see!" Millie was already reaching for me with her good arm. "Miss Claire, come here! Come sit!"
I crossed to the bed, my throat tight, and perched carefully on the edge of the mattress. "Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"
"My arm still itches," she said with profound seriousness. "And the food is gross. But the nurses let me watch extra cartoons, so it's okay."
"Priorities," I managed, smiling despite the burning in my eyes. "Very important to weigh the cartoons against the gross food."
"That's what I said!" She studied my face, and her expression grew more uncertain. "Miss Claire? Did you go to the court place again?"
I glanced at Nathaniel over her head. He gave me a small nod.
"We did," I said carefully. "And the judge made some really important decisions."
"About Aunt Victoria?"
She was still persisting in her mind, like a bad dream that visited her every day. Millie's small body had tensed, almost imperceptibly, the way an animal tenses when it senses a predator nearby.
"Yes, about Aunt Victoria." Nathaniel moved to the other side of the bed, taking Millie's injured hand gently in his. "Sweetheart, she's not going to be around anymore. Not at the house, not at your school, not anywhere you might be. The judge decided she needs to go somewhere else for a long time."
Millie's brow furrowed. "Somewhere else? Like... far away?"
"Very far away," I said softly. "She can't come near you anymore. Ever."
"Ever?" The word came out small, almost disbelieving. "Promise?"
"Promise," Nathaniel said, his voice rough. "You're safe now, pumpkin. You and me. We're safe."
I watched the information land on Millie's face, watched her process it with the particular gravity of a child who's learned not to trust good news too easily. For a long moment, she was silent.
Then something shifted. Some tension I hadn't even fully registered began to drain out of her small frame, like air escaping a balloon. Her shoulders dropped. Her grip on the sloth loosened.
"Good," she whispered, sinking back into her pillows. "I didn't like it when she yelled. She was always so mean."
