Before bed I stopped at Sonia’s door.
Her room smelled faintly of crayons and
baby shampoo.
She was already under her blanket, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
— Have you really seen him every night?
She nodded.
— He comes when it’s very dark.
— Did Mommy talk to him?
Sonia thought for a second.
— Not really.
She just looked sad.
Sad.
I remember that word landing somewhere inside me and vanishing beneath everything louder.
Anger was louder.
Fear was louder.
Pride was louder.
So I kissed my daughter goodnight and went to my room carrying the wrong emotion like a weapon.
