Frank objected at first, but Leah, weak and propped against pillows, said, “Please.”
Sophie entered clutching a stuffed rabbit so tightly its stitched smile had gone crooked. She had changed clothes, but something fragile remained in the way she moved, as if she no longer trusted open spaces.
Leah smiled despite the pain. “Hi, birthday girl.”
Sophie burst into tears and ran to the bed.
Leah hissed when the child collided with her side, then laughed softly through the pain. “Okay. Gentle birthday girl.”
“I’m sorry,” Sophie sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Leah touched her hair with the hand that still worked properly. “No. No, honey. You don’t ever apologize for somebody else being evil.”
Sophie pulled back just enough to look at her. “Why did you do that?”
The room went very still.
Leah glanced toward the door where Nico’s shadow stood visible through the frosted glass.
Then she looked back at Sophie.
“Because you’re a child,” Leah said simply. “And children don’t get handed the bill for adult sins.”
Sophie thought about that with the intense seriousness only children can bring to simple truths.
Then she nodded once and laid the stuffed rabbit beside Leah’s arm.
“He can stay,” she said. “In case it gets scary.”
After Sophie left, Nico entered.
Frank stood up so fast his chair scraped.
Leah, still exhausted, murmured, “Dad.”
Frank hesitated, every protective instinct in him alive and angry.
