Or maybe he just wanted me to have a daily reminder that she should still be here.
That it’s my fault she’s gone.
I slip into my office and close the door behind me. The silence is welcome. No toddler tantrums. No burned pancakes. No stains.
Except for the one currently on my shirt.
I peel off my suit jacket, loosen my tie, and unbutton the stained shirt. I swap it for the clean one hanging in the closet. I’d much rather be in scrubs, but Robert insists the community needs a doctor who looks like they have their life together.
Spoiler alert: I donothave my life together.
I knot the tie, shrug into my white coat, and brace myself for a day full of sick people coughing on me as well as those insisting they have cancer or something equally as bad because of an article they read on the internet.
Just as I’m about to reach for the knob on my office door, it swings open.
No knock.
No warning.
No sense of personal boundaries.
“There you are,” Robert says.
He glances at the clock, but doesn’t comment. Weaponized silence is his specialty.
“Had a bit of a slow start this morning,” I explain.
“Would that have anything to do with firing Grace?” He arches a single brow.
“She didn’t click with the kids.”
“Both of them?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, his stomach seeming to protrude even more.
I know what he’s getting at. He thinks Presley is the problem.
He keeps telling me she just needs structure. A consequence for not speaking, instead of the patience, care, and compassion I’ve shown her.
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “Both of them. Jeremiah needs someone who’ll get on the floor and be a dragon or dinosaur. Presley needs someone who won’t look at her like there’s something wrong with her.”
He gives me a look. He doesn’t have to say the words for me to know what he’s thinking.
That thereissomething wrong with her.
At least in his eyes.
Do I wish she’d finally talk again? Of course. I’d give anything to hear her sweet voice and her bright laughter.
But she’s suffered a traumatic event at a young age.
Like her therapist has told me. She just needs reassurance she’s loved and safe.
That’s what I’ve spent the past year trying to do. Showing her she’s loved. And keeping her safe.
“Who’s watching them today?” Robert asks.
“Abbey.”
“Where?” he scoffs. “The brewery?”
