“Why do you use that chair?” she asked simply.
He stiffened. Adults avoided that question.
“My legs were hurt,” he said at last. “They don’t work anymore.”
She frowned thoughtfully, then placed her small hand over his.
“When I fall, my mom kisses it and it feels better,” she said. “Do you want me to try?”
He froze—undone by the innocence.
“Sofia?” Isabella’s voice echoed down the hallway.
She appeared moments later, pale with fear. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she left the room.”
Nate inhaled slowly. “She can stay,” he said stiffly. “But teach her that this chair is normal. I don’t want drama.”
Isabella nodded, tears restrained. “Thank you.”
That evening, Nate realized he hadn’t thought about Vanessa once.
The Drawing
The peace shattered one morning.
“Get out.”
His voice filled the house.
Isabella ran downstairs to find Sofia crying, clutching crumpled paper. Nate’s face was flushed with anger.
