Part 10 — The Roses
That evening, Daniel and Sophie stood in Suite 904.
This time the room was theirs.
Rain tapped softly against the windows.
Chicago glowed below them.
Sophie stood on a chair arranging red roses in a tall glass vase.
“One more over here,” she said.
Daniel handed her the last flower.
She adjusted it carefully.
“Perfect.”
Daniel smiled.
“Your mom would agree.”
Sophie grew quiet.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Were you really mad at those people?”
Daniel sat on the edge of the bed.
“Yes.”
“Because they were mean?”
“Partly.”
She climbed up beside him.
“What was the other part?”
Daniel thought it over.
“Because sometimes people forget that everybody they meet has a story they can’t see.”
Sophie listened.
“The person wearing old clothes might have had a terrible day.”
She nodded.
“The person who looks angry might be scared.”
Another nod.
“The employee pushing the housekeeping cart might be the wisest person in the building.”
Sophie smiled.
“Miss Maria.”
“Exactly.”
She leaned against him.
“And the daddy with the broken flowers might own the hotel.”
Daniel laughed.
“I suppose so.”
Sophie turned serious.
“But if you didn’t own it, they still should’ve been nice.”
Daniel looked at her.
There it was.
The whole lesson.
Not from a boardroom.
Not from an executive consultant.
From a six-year-old.
He kissed the top of her head.
“Yes.”
His voice broke slightly.
“They should have.”
Sophie glanced toward the roses.
“Do you think Mommy saw what happened?”
Daniel followed her gaze.
For years he’d avoided answering questions he couldn’t possibly know.
But tonight he let himself have one small piece of hope.
“I think she would’ve been proud of you.”
“Me?”
“You were tired, and you still remembered to say thank you to Maria.”
Sophie smiled.
“Mommy said manners count the most when you’re tired.”
Daniel froze.
Rebecca used to say that constantly.
For a moment he could almost hear her voice.
Bright.
Teasing.
Alive.
For the first time in a long while, remembering didn’t feel like losing her all over again.
It felt like finding a piece of her.
Sophie rested her head against him.
“Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Next year can we buy Mom yellow roses too?”
“She liked red.”
“I know. But yellow ones are happy.”
Daniel looked at the bouquet.
Then at his daughter.
“Red and yellow.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
