The next morning, Sophie came running into the kitchen in her pajamas.
“Dad! Can we have pancakes?”
I made pancakes. My hands shook so badly flipping them that one landed on the stove.
She talked about the party. The lanterns. The cake. Uncle Matthew’s dragon story. Every time she said his name, it was like a knife going into me.
I hugged her too tight before she left for school. She squirmed.
“Dad, you’re squishing me.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
I called the hospital and took the day off. It was the first day I’d taken off in four years.
And then I sat alone in my apartment and made myself remember.
Not the things I wanted to remember. The things I’d brushed aside.
Over the past several months, Sophie had changed.
She’d started jumping when someone touched her. Even me. One morning I came up behind her and hugged her to say good morning, and she jumped like she’d been shocked. Her eyes went wide.
“What’s wrong?” I’d asked.
“Nothing, Dad. I was just daydreaming.”
She’d stopped wanting to sleep alone. She begged me to sit by her bed until she fell asleep. And a few times, I’d heard the little click of her bedroom door locking from the inside.
A nine-year-old locking her door.
She’d gotten quieter. She used to be loud and silly at dinner. Now she pushed her food around her plate and stared at nothing.
“Is something wrong, Sophie? You can tell Daddy.”
“Nothing, Dad.”
And then the hospital would call, and I’d grab my coat, and I’d tell myself she was just growing up. Girls get more sensitive at that age. It was normal.
It wasn’t normal.
And then I remembered the night that I had worked hardest to forget.
A few months back. Spaghetti for dinner. I was trying to get her to talk.
“How was school today?”
She shrugged. Then she said, very quietly, “Uncle Matthew comes over a lot after school. When you’re at the hospital.”
“Oh yeah? What do you two do?”
“At first we played games and watched movies.” She looked down at her plate. “But now he makes me feel uncomfortable, Dad. He hugs me too long. And he holds my hand and won’t let go. I don’t like it.”
And I had laughed.
God help me, I had laughed.
“Uncle Matthew just loves you, sweetheart. You’re being a little sensitive.”
She nodded. She didn’t look at me.
And then my phone rang. The hospital. An emergency. I kissed the top of her head and ran out the door.
I never brought it up again.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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