Questions That Made No Sense
Over the following week, Mr. Tom appeared in more and more of our conversations.
“He likes my drawings.”
“He says Grandpa would have loved my castle.”
“He told me not to be afraid during thunderstorms.”
Each time, I assumed she was simply working through emotions from the divorce.
Until one night.
I was brushing her hair before bed when she met my eyes through the bathroom mirror.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Why does Mr. Tom only come when you’re asleep?”
The brush froze mid-stroke.
“What do you mean?”
“He comes after you fall asleep.”
I forced a laugh. “Honey… there’s no Mr. Tom.”
She looked genuinely puzzled. “Yes there is.”
Her voice carried no make-believe. Only certainty.
“He checks on me.”
Every instinct in me went off at once.
I barely slept that night.
