Page 23 of Scars and Crowns

Just like that.

Case closed.

She flashes me a brilliant smile, all traces of indignation gone as though they'd never existed in the first place. Children forgive with a generosity adults spend their whole lives trying to relearn.

For a few quiet seconds neither of us speaks. She continues looking at me with open curiosity, completely unaware that she's already dismantled every carefully built wall I walked into this corridor carrying.

I clear my throat. There's something I shouldn't ask. Something I have no claim over anymore. Yet the question refuses to stay buried. "Can I ask you something?"

She nods immediately.

"Is your . . . mumma happy?" Sara's forehead wrinkles. She looks genuinely puzzled, as though I've asked whether the sky remembers to be blue every morning.

"Happy?" she repeats. Then she grins. "Of course." She points proudly at herself. "She has me."

The answer is so immediate. So certain. So innocent. My chest tightens before I can stop it. Of course that's how she sees the world. As far as she's concerned, she is reason enough for happiness.

I smile despite the ache quietly spreading beneath my ribs. "You're right." I nod thoughtfully. "That was a very silly question."

Without thinking, I reach over and gently ruffle her hair. It reminds me of doing the same thing to Kairav when he was small enough to tolerate it.

Sara gasps dramatically. "Hey!"

She swats my hand away with remarkable efficiency. "Don't spoil my hair."

"Sorry."

"And anyway . . . " She lifts her chin with unmistakable pride. "Everyone likes being with me."

I laugh. Not the polite laugh I give during formal dinners. Not the restrained smile expected in public. A real laugh.

The kind that slips out before I remember I'm supposed to be composed. It surprises me almost as much as it surprises her. How long has it been since something this simple made me laugh?

Years.

Far too many years.

She studies me for another moment before tilting her head. "Do you know Mumma?"

The question steals the smile from my face. Not because I don't know the answer. Because I don't know where to begin. "Yes."

The word comes softly. "I do." I look at her tiny face. "She was my best friend." I inhale deeply, "When we were children."

Sara's mouth falls open. "My mumma was a child?"

I blink. Then laugh again. "Yes."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Everyone starts somewhere."

She continues staring at me as though I've just revealed the greatest mystery in human history. Then another question arrives. "Was she naughty?"

I don't even need to think. "Oh . . . " I shake my head with exaggerated seriousness. "Extremely."

Sara sighs. A long, theatrical sigh that belongs to someone at least sixty years older. "She keeps scolding me."