"Did Grandma give this to you?"
"It had my name."
I read the message twice.
"What project?"
Maisie stared at me as if I should know. Then her expression changed. Daniel had apparently told her the project was a surprise for both of us. The child understood, suddenly, that telling me everything might break the surprise he had wanted.
"Nothing," she said.
I heard secrecy where there was actually loyalty to her father.
"Maisie."
"It's just Daddy stuff."
Those three words ended the conversation because they hurt too much. I threw the envelope away after she went to school. Maisie retrieved it from the recycling bin when she came home. I did not know that until much later.
In March, Ray called me. I did not answer. He left no voicemail. Two days later he called again.
I blocked the number. In April, Rebecca asked whether I had heard from the Iron Harbor Riders foundation about equipment assistance. I stared at her.
"Why would they contact me?"
She immediately understood she had stepped into something Daniel had wanted kept secret.
"They sometimes support families."
"I don't want their money."
"Sarah-"
"No."
Rebecca nodded carefully. "All right." She did not argue because she understood that accepting help is not simple when help has become attached to the person you blame for your husband's death. But she also did not stop coordinating the chair, because the funds were already committed to Maisie's equipment through the foundation and the clinical process had been underway for months.
Six weeks before the birthday, I found another drawing. It was tucked beneath Maisie's mattress.
Purple wheels. Stars. Secret compartment. Hammer with a wrench.
This one included Daniel standing beside him. Above Daniel's head she had drawn a speech bubble.
HAMMER FINISHES IF DADDY CAN'T.
I sat on the edge of her bed for ten minutes holding the page. When Maisie came home, I asked where she had heard those words.
"Daddy."
"When?"
"At Hammer's shop."
Everything inside me went cold.
"How many times did Daddy take you there?"
She counted on her fingers. "Two. Maybe three."
"Without telling me?"
"It was a surprise."