"Not yet. But I'm weakening." Sierra sighs. "She's very persuasive when she wants something."
"Wonder where she gets that from."
"Definitely you." Sierra's smile is small but genuine. "I was never good at arguing for what I wanted."
Is she talking about Ruby? About not telling me? Or about something else? About us, about how she let me leave without fighting for our relationship?
We drift toward a bench with a good view of the playground equipment, sitting down with space between us. Ruby's found another little girl to play with, and they're taking turns on the slide, their laughter carrying across the morning air.
"She makes friends easily," I observe.
"Always has." Sierra's watching Ruby with that soft expression mothers get, the one that's equal parts love and protective anxiety. "First day of kindergarten, I was terrified she'd be scared or lonely. She walked into that classroom and within five minutes had organized a game of tag with three other kids."
"Natural leader."
"Bossy is what her teacher said." But Sierra's smiling. "In the nicest possible way."
I want to know everything. Every first day of school, every scraped knee, every triumph and setback. Seven years of moments I missed, and I'm greedy for all of them.
"Tell me about her," I say. "Everything. I want to know everything."
Sierra turns to look at me, surprise flickering across her face. "Everything? That's a lot of years to cover."
"I've got time." I lean back against the bench. "We've got all morning. All weekend. And I—" My throat tightens. "I need to know. Need to understand who she is, how she got to be this amazing kid."
Sierra's quiet for a moment, then starts talking. She tells me about Ruby's birth—thirty-six hours of labor, stubborn even then, coming into the world screaming with indignation. About the first time Ruby laughed, really laughed, at four months old when Sierra's father made ridiculous faces at her.
She tells me about Ruby's first steps, taken at eleven months while reaching for the family cat. About the time Ruby decided to give herself a haircut at age three and ended up with choppy bangs that took six months to grow out. About Ruby's obsession with dinosaurs at age four, how she could name every species and correct adults who got the details wrong.
I listen to all of it, my chest aching. Joy at learning about my daughter, grief at all the moments I wasn't there to witness.
"Her first day of first grade," Sierra continues, "she wore this dress with puppies all over it. Insisted on it, wouldn't wear anything else. And she took her favorite stuffed animal, Mr.Trunk, the elephant, in her backpack. For moral support, she said."
"Mr. Trunk," I repeat, remembering the elephant from yesterday. "He looked well-loved."
"She's had him since she was six months old. My mom bought him." Sierra's smile is bittersweet. "Mom said every kid needs something to hold onto when things get scary. Ruby's barely let him out of her sight since."
"Your parents," I say. "They helped you a lot? After I left?"
"They were incredible." Sierra's voice is thick with emotion. "When I told them I was pregnant, that you didn't know, they didn't judge. They just… They stepped up. Dad built the crib, painted Ruby's room. Mom came to every doctor's appointment. They were both there when she was born."
The image forms in my mind. Sierra in a hospital bed, scared and alone except for her parents, bringing our daughter into the world without me. The guilt is overwhelming.
"I should have been there," I say quietly.
"You didn't know." But there's no absolution in her voice, just fact.
"Because you didn't tell me."
Sierra flinches but doesn't look away. "Yes. Because I didn't tell you."
We watch Ruby in silence for a moment. She's climbing the rope ladder again, determined to reach the top of the structure. I can see Sierra tense beside me, every muscle coiled like she's ready to sprint over there and catch Ruby if she falls.
"I need to ask you something," I say finally. "And I need you to be honest."
"Okay." Sierra's hands are wrapped tight around her coffee cup.
"After the fire, when I was… When I was falling apart did you think about leaving me?"
