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Children hear truth differently.

What she hears isMaybe he is leaving.Maybe you should be worried. Maybe don't get attached.

And suddenly I've made everything worse.

I reach for her hand.

"Bug—"

"If hockey teams tell players where to go..."

Her voice is very small now.

"...what happens if they send him away from us?"

I close my eyes.

Briefly.

Because there are a hundred things I want to tell her.

-that Colby cares about us,

-that everything will work out,

-that people don't disappear when they matter.

The problem is that I've believed all those things before and so has she.

I squeeze her fingers.

"He hasn't gone anywhere."

"Yet."

The word nearly destroys me. Because that's not a child's fear.

That's experience talking.

That's abandonment talking.

That's Darren talking.

Not her father.

Not exactly.

But another man who promised he cared. Another man who left.

I pull her into my lap. She comes willingly. Which somehow hurts even more.

Her head rests against my shoulder. For a while we just sit there.

Snow is falling outside.

The family tree is still resting on the coffee table.

Then she whispers: "Will Colby leave too?"