Chapter 14
Sophia slept in my bed for nine nights.
I slept in the chair beside it.
Every time I tried to move her into her own room, she woke before I reached the door.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
“You leaving?”
“No.”
The first three nights, she asked every hour.
By the sixth, twice.
By the ninth, once.
Healing became arithmetic.
Fewer questions.
Longer sleep.
A full plate eaten without someone watching.
One morning she found her recovered belongings stacked in boxes outside the room.
Her face went pale.
“No.”
I understood immediately.
Packed things meant leaving now.
I crouched beside her.
“They’re yours.”
“Where going?”
“Nowhere.”
She looked at the boxes.
Then at me.
“Why packed?”
That question hurt.
I told her the truth she could carry.
“Some adults made a bad choice. They packed your things without asking you.”
“Mom?”
I did not lie.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“Mom doesn’t want me?”
There it was.
The damage turning direction.
“No.”
I held her hands.
“Mom made a terrible mistake because she was angry with me. That was never because you were unwanted.”
Sophia looked toward the boxes.
“Can I unpack?”
“Yes.”
“All?”
“All.”
It took most of the afternoon.
She chose where every dress went.
Every book.
Every photograph.
One family picture she placed facedown.
I did not turn it back over.
Choice.
That mattered now.
At the bottom of the final box was the school page covered with the same sentence.
DADDY DOES NOT WANT ME.
Sophia stared at it.
Then she took a crayon and scribbled over the words until they disappeared.
I said nothing.
She looked up.
“Wrong.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
She handed me the crayon.
May you like
“Your turn.”
So I helped her cover the rest.
