Chapter 9 - THE DAUGHTER WHO STOPPED SMILING
Grace stopped sleeping through the night.
At first, I thought it was the excitement surrounding the gala.
Then I heard her crying.
It was nearly two in the morning.
I found her sitting on the floor beside her bed, holding the black spiral notebook.
"Sweetheart?"
She looked up.
Her eyes were swollen.
"Mom."
I sat beside her.
"What's wrong?"
She swallowed.
"Did I make Dad go away?"
My heart broke.
"No."
She looked at the notebook.
"If I hadn't saved the video—"
I gently took it from her hands.
"Grace."
She looked at me.
"Your father made his own decisions."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"But everyone keeps talking about the video."
I pulled her close.
"That isn't your responsibility."
She sobbed.
"I just wanted him to stop lying."
I held her.
"I know."
Then she whispered something that frightened me more than anything else.
"Maybe if I was better, he would have stayed home."
I closed my eyes.
"Oh, baby."
I held her face gently.
"Nothing you did or didn't do caused this."
She shook her head.
"Then why didn't he want to be with us?"
I swallowed.
There was no answer that could make it painless.
So I told her the truth in words she could understand.
"Sometimes adults make selfish choices. Those choices are about them, not about how lovable their children are."
She cried harder.
I stayed with her until she fell asleep against my shoulder.
The next morning, I contacted a child therapist.
Grace began attending weekly sessions.
Her therapist encouraged us to establish predictable routines.
School.
Dinner.
Homework.
Bedtime.
No discussing legal developments in front of her.
No asking her to deliver messages.
No treating her as a witness when she needed to be a child.
I followed that advice.
I also put the black notebook away.
Not because it was unimportant.
But because Grace deserved to stop carrying it.
Derek requested a visit two weeks later.
His attorney contacted Evelyn.
We arranged a meeting in a family counseling office with a professional present.
Grace wanted to see him.
I respected that.
Before the visit, she asked me:
"Do you hate Dad?"
I considered my answer.
"I'm very hurt and angry with him."
She nodded.
"But I don't want you to feel that you have to hate him."
She looked relieved.
At the office, Derek entered carrying a stuffed penguin.
Grace had loved penguins since kindergarten.
He knelt.
"Hey, princess."
She hesitated.
Then hugged him.
He held her tightly.
I looked away.
For all his failures as a husband, I knew he loved our daughter.
But love without honesty and responsibility had left her frightened and confused.
After several minutes, Grace asked:
"Dad, are you going to tell the truth now?"
Derek looked at the counselor.
Then at me.
Finally, he looked at Grace.
"I'm trying."
She studied him.
"That's not yes."
He closed his eyes.
"No."
Her face fell.
He swallowed.
"I haven't told the whole truth yet."
Grace nodded slowly.
Then whispered:
"Please start."
May you like
Derek began crying.
And for the first time, I wondered whether losing his daughter's trust might finally force him to confront what he'd done.
