Chương 5
Michael read the message and frowned.
“That’s fast.”
“What?”
“She’s already talking about custody.”
Daniel looked down.
“She’s scared.”
“Maybe.”
Michael placed the phone on the counter.
“Or maybe she knows that’s the part that scares you.”
Daniel hated how accurate that felt.
For years, his biggest fear had been losing Sophia.
Not losing money.
Not losing the house.
Not losing Sarah.
Sophia.
The idea of someone deciding how much time he deserved with his own daughter felt unbearable.
“I don’t want to fight her,” Daniel said.
Michael stirred the pasta sauce.
“You might not get to choose.”
“I don’t want Sophia in the middle.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then what?”
Michael looked at him.
“Then you stop pretending avoiding conflict protects her.”
Daniel did not respond.
Because that was the question he had been avoiding.
Maybe keeping peace had not protected Sophia.
Maybe it had only hidden the problem until it became impossible to ignore.
After dinner, Daniel checked on Sophia.
She was lying on her side holding the stuffed rabbit against her chest.
The room was dark except for the hallway light.
“You asleep?”
“No.”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
He nodded.
Another answer she gave because she thought it was expected.
“Can I ask you something?”
She looked at him.
“Sure.”
“Why were you outside today?”
Sophia looked down at the rabbit.
“Mom said I needed to wait.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel felt something tighten in his chest.
“What happened before that?”
She moved one shoulder slightly.
“Mom was mad.”
“About what?”
“I forgot my shoes.”
Daniel waited.
Children often needed time before difficult truths came out.
“She said I never listen.”
Sophia’s fingers touched the torn ear of the rabbit.
“Then she told me to go outside until I could behave.”
Daniel felt the room become smaller.
“How long were you outside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you try to come back in?”
Sophia nodded.
“She didn’t answer.”
Daniel looked away.
He needed the second.
He needed to keep his face steady.
Because if Sophia saw his anger, she might think she had done something wrong again.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you mad?”
He turned back.
“Not at you.”
She studied him.
“Promise?”
Daniel reached out and held her hand.
“I promise.”
She relaxed slightly.
“Mom used to be nicer.”
The sentence was quiet.
Almost casual.
But it stayed in the room.
Daniel looked at his daughter, at the child who still remembered the good version of Sarah.
“That’s a hard thing to say,” he whispered.
Sophia nodded.
“I miss her.”
Daniel swallowed.
Because he missed her too.
Not the person who poured ice water on them.
The person who existed before that.
The person they were both still trying to find.
When Sophia finally fell asleep, Daniel remained sitting beside her.
His phone stayed silent on the dresser.
For the first time all day, he did not feel the need to defend himself.
He did not need to convince anyone.
He did not need to explain why he was hurt.
He only needed to remember one thing.
Tomorrow would bring questions.
Tomorrow would bring consequences.
Tomorrow would bring Sarah.
But tonight, his daughter was warm.
The next morning arrived quietly, which almost felt wrong after the chaos of the day before.
Daniel woke before his alarm because he had spent most of the night waking up every hour.
Each time he opened his eyes, he expected to hear Sophia crying.
Each time, he found the room dark and still.
For a few seconds, he forgot where he was.
Then he remembered.
The memory came back in pieces.
The patio.
The water.
Sarah’s face above him.
His daughter saying she was cold.
He sat up slowly on Michael’s couch and rubbed his eyes.
The blanket had fallen to the floor sometime during the night.
The television was still on with the volume muted.
A weather reporter moved across the screen, pointing at a map that showed a cold front moving through the area.
Daniel watched for a moment without hearing any of it.
Then he stood and walked toward the kitchen.
Michael was already there.
He was drinking coffee while staring at a piece of mail he had clearly opened three days ago and never dealt with.
“You sleep?”
Michael asked.
“Some.”
“That means no.”
Daniel opened a cabinet.
He found a mug.
He hesitated before taking it.
It was a small thing.
Almost meaningless.
But he noticed himself looking around first, as if he needed permission to exist in someone else’s space.
Michael noticed too.
“You know you’re allowed to use my cups.”
“I know.”
“You looked guilty.”
“I wasn’t.”
Michael raised an eyebrow.
Daniel sighed.
“Maybe a little.”
Michael smiled faintly.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
Daniel poured coffee.
The first sip was too hot.
He drank it anyway.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
It was not uncomfortable.
That was unusual.
Most silence in Daniel’s life had become something he needed to fill.
At work.
At home.
During arguments.
Silence had always meant something bad was coming.
But Michael’s kitchen was different.
The refrigerator hummed.
A truck passed outside.
Coffee dripped slowly into the sink where Michael had forgotten to put a cup underneath it.
Ordinary things happened.
Nobody demanded anything from him.
Then his phone rang.
The screen showed Sarah.
Daniel stared at it.
Michael looked up.
“You answering?”
Daniel did not move.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s honest.”
The phone kept ringing.
Finally, Daniel answered.
“Hello.”
For several seconds, neither person spoke.
Then Sarah said, “Where is Sophia?”
Her voice sounded controlled.
Too controlled.
Daniel leaned against the counter.
“She’s safe.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I know.”
“Where is she?”
“With Michael.”
A pause followed.
“Of course.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
There was something in her voice he recognized.
Not anger exactly.
Fear mixed with defensiveness.
“You need to understand something,” Sarah said.
“Do I?”
“Daniel.”
He almost interrupted.
May you like
He stopped himself.
That habit had taken years to build.
