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Duncan listened, but his expression hadn’t softened.

“You knew how I felt about the scar makeup. We discussed it on Friday, and you saw how upset she got when I said no.”

“I did. But she showed me the sketches before that conversation.”

“Then you knew she was interested in much more than the simple costume things we’d agreed you could help her with.”

I stared at him.

“Duncan, she’s been interested in those things since before I came to town. She drew them herself.”

Sienna tugged at his sleeve.

“Dad, Goldie didn’t tell me to make scars. I wanted to do that because I saw them at the costume tent, and I thought I could learn how.”

He looked down at her.

“I know you’re interested, sweetheart. That’s not what I’m upset about.”

“Then what are you upset about?”

He hesitated.

I wished he’d take the opportunity to answer her properly.

Instead, he turned back to me.

“When we made our agreement, I asked you not to encourage things behind my back and leave me to be the one who says no. You told me you understood.”

I felt the words land harder than I expected.

“I did understand. And I haven’t broken that agreement.”

“You praised drawings you knew I wouldn’t approve of, and now she’s using your opinion to argue that I should let her do something I’ve already said no to.”

“That’s not the same as giving her permission.”

“Maybe not to you. But to a ten-year-old who’s trying to convince me, it makes a difference.”

For a moment, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

I’d spent the last three days respecting every boundary he’d established. I’d checked with him before helping Sienna style her hair, stayed out of their arguments, and encouraged her to talk openly with her father about the things she loved.

Now he was treating my admiration for her talent as though it were a betrayal.

I looked directly at him.

“You’re right that your opinion matters to her. But you can’t expect me to tell her the drawings aren’t good just because the subject makes you uncomfortable. She has real talent, Duncan. I recognized that when I saw her work, and I told her so. I also told her to show you.”

His expression tightened.

“You should’ve told me what she was drawing.”

“That was her sketchbook. I wasn’t going to take something she trusted me enough to share and report it to you as though she’d done something wrong. Especially when she hadn’t.”

“She’s my daughter, Goldie. I don’t think you understand how difficult it is to be responsible for decisions that affect her.”

“I know she’s your daughter. I’ve never pretended otherwise, and I haven’t lied to you.”