Then I heard soft footsteps.
She appeared in the doorway, holding her favorite stuffed toy. Her small hands clutched it tightly, as though it held all the courage she needed.
“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to watch me because of money.”
I looked up, startled.
She hugged her toy closer and added, “I like it when you’re here. It feels safe.”
Those simple words pierced through every layer of frustration I had built.
She wasn’t thinking about boundaries, about fairness, about whether I was compensated for my time. She wasn’t worried about what was “reasonable” for me or her father.
She just knew that when I was there, she felt safe.
What She Really Needed
I set my book aside and opened my arms. She walked over, climbed into my lap, and I held her as tightly as I could.
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