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?"
