Chapter 5 - SOPHIE ASKED ME TO STOP FIXING HER
While I was fighting Ashbourne, I almost made the same mistake at home.
Sophie came downstairs one night and found me reviewing legal documents.
“You missed dinner.”
I looked at the time.
9:18.
Her nanny had fed her.
That wasn’t the point.
“I’m sorry.”
“You always say that.”
I closed the laptop.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
The word sounded familiar.
I remembered every time adults had said something was nothing when it clearly wasn’t.
“Sophie.”
She sat across from me.
“Are you going to make Ava come back to school?”
“If she wants.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll help with another school.”
“What if she doesn’t want your help?”
That stopped me.
“Did she say that?”
“No.”
Sophie looked down.
“Sometimes you help too much.”
I almost laughed.
Then saw she was serious.
“What do you mean?”
“You made me have three tutors.”
“Two.”
“Mr. Carlisle counts twice.”
Fair.
“And therapy.”
“You needed someone to talk to.”
“I know.”
“And piano.”
“You used to love piano.”
“When Mom was here.”
The room changed.
I waited.
Sophie continued.
“You kept making schedules so I wouldn’t be sad.”
My chest tightened.
“I was trying to help.”
“I know.”
Then:
“But you never asked if I wanted to be sad sometimes.”
I had no answer.
Eight years old.
And she had identified what two years of expensive counseling had not made me understand.
I was treating grief like a scheduling defect.
She looked at me.
“Ava doesn’t try to make me happy.”
“What does she do?”
“She lets me be bad at math.”
I smiled despite myself.
“She says I can hate fractions.”
“That seems irresponsible.”
Sophie smiled.
There it was again.
Small.
Real.
I moved my laptop aside.
“What do you want to change?”
She looked suspicious.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Pick me up yourself on Fridays.”
I almost answered automatically.
Friday afternoons were investor calls.
Board review.
Then I stopped.
“Okay.”
“And no tutor Friday.”
“Done.”
“And sometimes dinner can be late.”
“Let’s not lose our minds.”
She laughed.
That Friday, I picked her up.
No driver.
No assistant.
We found Ava sitting near the library.
Sophie asked:
“Can she get ice cream?”
Ava immediately said:
“No.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because every time you see me, you try to buy something.”
I deserved that.
Sophie whispered:
“He does that.”
I looked at both of them.
“Fine. Nobody gets anything.”
Sophie gasped.
“That’s not the lesson.”
Ava laughed.
And then I did too.
May you like
That was the first Friday I began becoming Sophie’s father again instead of the manager of her grief.
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