Michael didn’t know it yet, but what he was about to hear would break his heart… and begin to heal it at the same time.
Michael sat beside his daughter’s bed. “Lily,” he said softly, “whatever it is, just tell me the truth.”
Lily’s small hands fidgeted in her lap. “I told her… that she’s just like Mom. That she’ll leave too. Everyone leaves.”
Clara’s eyes softened, and suddenly Michael understood. It wasn’t defiance driving Lily — it was grief.
He remembered the night his wife, Grace, died. Lily had been five, clutching her teddy bear as the machines beeped and then fell silent. After that, laughter vanished from the house. Michael drowned himself in work, hiring people to fill the silence. But love, he realized now, couldn’t be outsourced.
“I don’t hate her,” Lily whispered. “I just… don’t want her to go away like Mom did.”
Clara knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
Lily looked up, uncertain.
Michael turned away, blinking back tears. For years he had mistaken Lily’s terror for misbehavior. She hadn’t been spoiled — she had been scared. Scared of losing one more person.
