She always thanked me for the smallest kindness.
She folded napkins before meals and never took the last cookie from the plate.
For a while, our little family almost felt complete again.
Not everyone liked that.
Emily’s grandparents—my late wife’s parents—believed Emily belonged with them instead.
They constantly reminded me that raising a child alone wasn’t enough.
“Emily needs her mother’s family,” they would say.
I ignored them.
Everything changed one rainy Friday in October.
Emily wanted to attend the school dance with Nora.
I refused because of the weather.
The argument escalated faster than either of us expected.
Frustrated, I told her,
“Then maybe ask your grandparents if they know better than I do.”
The words left my mouth before I realized how cruel they sounded.
Emily grabbed her coat and stormed outside.
Nora hurried after her.
“I’ll bring her home,” she promised.
I watched them disappear down the sidewalk.
It was the last time I saw Emily for ten years.
Half an hour later, Nora returned alone.
