I bite back the response I want to give and focus on Maisie, who’s already climbing back up for another go.
For a few minutes, things are almost okay. Maisie plays, I watch, Sienna does whatever Sienna does. It’s not ideal, but it’s manageable.
Then Maisie falls.
It happens fast—her foot slips on the ladder, and she tumbles sideways, landing hard on the wood chips. I’m moving before she even starts crying, but I hear it—that sharp wail that means she’s actually hurt, not just surprised.
“Hey, hey, I’ve got you.” I scoop her up, checking the damage. Skinned knee, not deep, but bleeding enough to scare her. “You’re okay, it’s just a scrape.”
“It hurts, Daddy.”
“I know. Let me see.” I sit down on the edge of the playground structure, settling her in my lap so I can get a better look. The cut isn’t bad—a little antiseptic and a bandage and she’ll be fine. But she’s crying now, big heaving sobs, and I pull her against my chest and let her get it out.
Sienna appears next to us, phone in hand. “What happened?”
“She fell. Skinned her knee.”
“Oh.” She looks at Maisie—crying, bleeding, clinging to me—and her expression shifts into something I can only describe as inconvenienced. “Baby, you’re okay. It’s just a little cut.”
Maisie cries harder.
“Come here.” Sienna reaches for her, and for a second, I think maybe I’ve misjudged. Maybe she’s going to actually comfort her daughter, actually be a mother for five minutes.
But Maisie doesn’t reach back. She burrows deeper into my chest, and Sienna’s hands drop.
“She’s so dramatic,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “It’s barely even bleeding.”
I bite my tongue so hard I taste copper.
“I’ve got her,” I manage. “Why don’t you see if you have some tissues in your purse?”
“Fine.” She turns and walks away, already back on her phone before she’s taken three steps.
I hold Maisie until the sobs slow to hiccups. “You’re okay,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
“Mommy didn’t even care.”
The words are so quiet I almost miss them. But I don’t. And they carve something out of my chest that I’m not sure I’ll ever get back.
“She cares,” I lie. “She just doesn’t know how to show it sometimes.”
Maisie doesn’t respond. Just presses her face harder into my shirt and holds on.
• • •
Sienna leaves an hour early.
“Something came up with work,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes. “A brand thing. I have to take a call.”
On a Sunday. Sure. I guess it’s possible, but not very likely.
“Say bye to Mommy, Maze.”
Maisie is sitting on the couch, bandaged knee visible beneath the hem of her purple dress. She doesn’t get up. Doesn’t run to hug her mom goodbye.
“Bye, Mommy.”
“Bye, baby girl!” Sienna blows a kiss from the doorway. “I’ll see you soon, okay? We’ll do this again!”
