My throat closes.
Four words, as simple as a crayon drawing, as devastating as a gavel.
I look down at her small face, at the worry already gathering between her brows, and I hate myself more than I’ve ever hated anyone.
“No,” I say quietly. “No, baby. I didn’t.”
Her mouth turns down. “Why not?”
I breathe out slowly through my nose.
Because I hurt her.
Because I was so scared of being made a fool of that I made one of myself instead.
Because when she walked away, I froze.
Because I still don’t know how to love someone without flinching first.
I can’t say all of that to a four-year-old, so I smooth my hand over her hair and give her the truest version that will fit in her little hands.
“I hurt her feelings,” I say. “Really badly. And I said things that made her feel like I didn’t trust her.”
Penelope blinks at me. “But Carly is nice.”
“I know.”
“She makes good mac and cheese.”
“She does.”
“So why did you hurt her feelings?”
“I got scared,” I say, trying desperately to keep myself together for her.
Penelope’s frown deepens. “Of Carly?”
“No. Not of her.” I swallow, my eyes burning again. “Of losing her, I think. And then I made it happen anyway.”
She watches me carefully, like she is trying very hard to understand grown-up stupidity.
I kiss the top of her head because I can’t stand the look on her face, keeping my head pressed to hers. “I’m sorry, bug.”
“For what?”
“Forfailing.”The word breaks on the way out.
Penelope goes very still in my lap. I stare over her head at the cooling cup of coffee, jaw tight, eyes fixed hard because if I look at her, I might start crying again and I don’t want that fear in her memory. I don’t want her to remember her father falling apart atthe kitchen table because he couldn’t keep the best woman he’d ever known.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I tried to fix it, and I failed.”
Her small hand tries to pat my cheek, but it feels a bit more like a slap. “You can’t give up,” she says.
I blink.
She says it like it’s obvious, like I’ve told her we’re out of bananas and she’s explaining that the store exists.
“What?”
