She walked toward the ballroom.
“I need my bag.”
I followed.
The ballroom quieted when Amelia entered.
Dozens of faces turned toward her.
My parents.
Relatives.
Friends.
The photographer.
The unity table stood near the front.
A large candle burned there.
An empty place waited beside it.
Ryan followed Amelia inside.
“Sweetheart.”
She turned.
He stopped.
Amelia hugged her candle against her chest.
“I came because you’re my dad.”
Ryan nodded.
“I know.”
“I love you.”
His face crumpled.
“I love you too.”
Then Amelia said:
“But I didn’t come to say what you did was okay.”
Nobody moved.
I wanted to cross the room and stop this.
Not because Ryan didn’t deserve to hear it.
Because Amelia was nine.
She wasn’t supposed to carry the moral weight of four adults.
So I walked toward her.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
She looked relieved.
That mattered more than anything she had said.
