Vanessa said the dog was fine.
They discussed the next day's schedule.
Then ended the call.
Daniel set down the phone.
For a moment, he considered calling Amelia's device directly.
But Vanessa said she was asleep.
He did not want to wake her.
So he opened the family photo gallery instead.
He found a picture of Naomi holding Amelia as a baby.
He stared at it.
Then whispered, "I'm trying."
For years, he had believed he was trying hard enough.
He worked to provide financial security.
Paid attention to school.
Attended important events.
Called when he traveled.
And trusted the woman he married to care for his child.
He did not know that the trust itself had become the problem.
The second day began with Amelia standing beside the kitchen doorway asking for breakfast.
Vanessa was drinking coffee while reviewing a message from Trevor.
He wanted to know whether the next trust disbursement had arrived.
Vanessa's expression tightened.
Not yet.
The trustee had asked for additional confirmation.
She had spent the previous evening trying to answer questions she did not fully understand.
Now Amelia was standing in the doorway.
"Vanessa?"
The woman looked up.
"What?"
"Can I eat breakfast?"
Vanessa stared at her.
"Did I say you could come downstairs?"
The little girl shook her head.
"No."
"Then go back upstairs."
Amelia pressed one hand against her stomach.
"It hurts."
Vanessa's expression became cold.
"You're not sick. You're being dramatic."
The child lowered her eyes.
"Please."
Vanessa stood.
"Enough."
She pointed toward the hallway.
"Go."
Amelia backed away.
When the front doorbell rang ten minutes later, Vanessa looked through the security viewer.
Denise Wilson stood on the porch.
She carried a paper bag from a bakery.
Vanessa's face hardened.
She opened the door only partway.
"Denise."
The older woman smiled.
"Morning. I was nearby and thought I'd bring Amelia some muffins."
Vanessa did not smile.
"She's resting."
Denise frowned.
"At nine in the morning?"
"She's been tired."
"May I see her?"
Vanessa shifted slightly, blocking the doorway.
"Not today. We've got things to do."