Chương 3
She looked relieved for only a second before another worry appeared.
"What about tomorrow?"
Stallone did not answer immediately.
He knew better than to make promises he could not control.
"Tomorrow, we figure out tomorrow."
That seemed to satisfy her more than a big promise would have.
While Ella sat at the kitchen table drawing with crayons from a box he kept for grandchildren who visited less often than he wished, Stallone made a phone call.
He stared at Daniel's name on his screen for almost a minute before pressing it.
The call rang four times.
Then voicemail.
Stallone ended it without leaving a message.
A few minutes later, his phone buzzed.
A text appeared.
Dad, don't make this worse.
Stallone read it twice.
His first instinct was anger.
His second was sadness.
He placed the phone face down.
Across the table, Ella was drawing a house.
There were three people in the picture.
A tall person.
A small person.
And another small person.
Stallone walked closer.
"Who is that?"
Ella pointed.
"Me."
"And this?"
"Grandpa."
He looked at the third figure.
"And who is that?"
Ella pressed the crayon harder.
"I don't know."
The answer stayed with him.
Later that evening, Daniel sat on the same wooden bench where he had fallen.
The backyard looked different without Stallone standing there.
Margaret had gone inside almost immediately after Stallone left.
She had not said goodbye.
She had not checked on Daniel.
She had only walked into the kitchen and started cleaning dishes that were already clean.
Daniel knew that habit.
She cleaned when she wanted to avoid thinking.
He hated that he understood her so well.
His shoulder hurt.
Not badly enough for a hospital.
Just enough to remind him every time he moved.
His phone buzzed again.
A work notification.
A reminder about a meeting.
The normal world continuing while his personal life was breaking apart felt almost insulting.
He ignored it.
Margaret came outside carrying two glasses of water.
She placed one beside him.
"You need to talk to your father."
Daniel laughed quietly.
It was not a happy sound.
"That's what you got from today?"
Her face tightened.
"I am saying he cannot just come here and attack people."
Daniel looked at her.
"And what about the box?"
She stopped.
Only for a moment.
But he saw it.
A hesitation.
A tiny pause.
"She wasn't in danger."
Daniel looked away.
That sentence sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
He had used versions of it himself.
She wasn't hurt.
She wasn't crying that much.
She'll forget.
Kids are resilient.
He suddenly wondered how many times he had mistaken a child's ability to survive for proof that nothing had happened.
Margaret sat down.
"You are letting him make you feel guilty."
Daniel stared at the grass.
"Maybe I should."
She did not answer.
That frightened him more than an argument would have.
Because arguments meant people still believed they were right.
Silence meant someone was running out of excuses.
The next morning, Stallone woke before sunrise.
He had barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ella's fingers gripping the edge of the box.
He made coffee.
Forgot to drink it.
Made another cup.
Forgot that one too.
At seven, his phone rang.
It was Daniel.
Stallone answered but did not speak first.
"Where is Ella?"
The question was sharp.
Not worried.
Not gentle.
Protective in the wrong direction.
"With me."
"She needs to come home."
Stallone looked toward the living room.
Ella was asleep on the couch beneath an old blanket.
Her drawing sat on the coffee table.
"Does she feel safe coming back?"
A pause.
"I didn't ask her that."
Stallone closed his eyes.
"Then ask yourself why."
Daniel breathed heavily.
"I made a mistake."
The words were quiet.
Stallone leaned against the kitchen counter.
"Which one?"
Another pause.
"The whole thing."
It was the first honest sentence his son had said.
It was not enough.
But it was a beginning.
"Daniel, mistakes are accidents."
"I know."
"No."
Stallone's voice softened.
"You know now."
The silence between them was different this time.
Not anger.
Something closer to shame.
"I should have stopped it."
"Yes."
Daniel swallowed.
"You don't have to say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm the worst person in the world."
Stallone looked toward the sleeping child.
"I don't think you're the worst person in the world."
Daniel waited.
"I think you were scared of disappointing people, and you let your daughter pay the price for that."
The truth hurt because it was specific.
Daniel did not argue.
For once, he did not defend himself.
"I don't know how to fix this."
Stallone looked at the clock.
Neither of them had ever been good at admitting that.
"I don't either."
That answer surprised Daniel.
"You don't?"
"No."
Stallone sat down.
"I know how to protect her right now."
He looked toward Ella.
"But protecting her and fixing everything are not the same thing."
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
Then Daniel whispered.
"Can I see her?"
Stallone looked at Ella again.
The question carried more weight than the words.
Not can I see her.
Can I still be her father.
"Come alone," Stallone said.
"Okay."
"And Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"When you get here, don't explain first."
Daniel stayed quiet.
"Listen first."
The call ended.
An hour later, Daniel stood on Stallone's porch.
He looked different.
Not physically.
Just less certain.
Stallone opened the door.
Neither man hugged.
Neither man apologized.
Not yet.
From the living room, a small voice called out.
"Dad?"
Daniel froze.
Stallone watched his son take a breath before stepping inside.
Ella sat on the couch holding her rabbit.
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she asked the question adults always hoped they would never hear from a child.
"Why didn't you help me?"
Daniel felt the question hit harder than anything that had happened in the backyard.
He opened his mouth.
May you like
Nothing came out.
Ella watched him carefully, waiting.
