Things I’d barely noticed because I was always taking care of someone else.
Mark walked past me.
“I’m packing. There’s no point dragging this out.”
The woman went to wait in her car.
And I stood in the kitchen, listening to my husband move around upstairs.
The man I’d helped learn to walk again.
Packing to leave me.
He was carrying his suitcase downstairs when Sophie came home from dance class.
“Daddy?”
She looked at the suitcase.
“Are we going somewhere?”
Mark hesitated.
Then shrugged.
“Your mom and I aren’t going to live together anymore. I’ve met someone else.”
I waited for Sophie to cry.
Instead, she stood very still.
Then she smiled.
A small, careful smile.
“Okay, Dad.”
She didn’t ask who the woman was.
She didn’t even look surprised.
Mark looked relieved.
But Sophie wasn’t finished.
“You forgot something. I’ll get it.”
She hurried upstairs.
Mark glanced at his watch.
“At least she’s handling this sensibly.”
I stared at him.
“She’s 11, Mark.”
“Exactly. She’s old enough to understand.”
Before I could answer, Sophie returned.
She was holding something against her chest.
A small red notebook.
When Mark saw it, his expression tightened.
“Daddy, remember this?”
“Sophie, not now.”
But she opened it.
On the cover, written in purple crayon, were four words.
“When Daddy Walks Again.”
