She went stiff for a moment.
Then she held on.
The father buried his face against her hair.
"Oh, sweetheart."
His voice broke.
"You never have to protect me from being your dad."
She began crying.
He held her.
"If something hurts you, I want to know. If you're hungry, I want to know. If somebody makes you feel small, I want to know."
She pressed her face into his shirt.
"Even if it's somebody you love?"
He closed his eyes.
"Especially then."
For several minutes, they sat together.
When her crying slowed, he reached for a tissue and gently wiped her cheeks.
"Can I ask one more thing?"
She nodded.
"Has anyone told you not to tell me about what happens at home?"
She looked at the floor.
Then whispered, "She said you might get tired of all the complaining."
The father remained silent.
His daughter lifted her eyes.
"Can dads get tired of their kids?"
He almost couldn't bear the question.
He took both her hands.
"Listen to me very carefully. I might get tired from work. I might have hard days. Sometimes I might be grumpy or make mistakes."
He paused.
"But I will never get tired of loving you."
She stared at him.
"Never?"
"Never."
She thought about that.
Then asked, "Even if I make a mess?"
He smiled through his tears.
"Even if you make a mess."
"Even if I get a bad grade?"
"Even then."
"Even if I forget to put my clothes away?"
He shook his head.
"Even if your whole bedroom looks like a tornado came through."
A tiny smile appeared.
He smiled back.
"That's the smile I remember."
She leaned against him.
For the first time that evening, her shoulders relaxed.
Then she asked something that stopped him again.
"Is she going to send me away?"
The father looked down.
"What?"
His daughter kept her eyes on the rabbit.
"She said if I kept making trouble, maybe I'd have to stay somewhere else."
His hands went cold.
"Where?"
She shrugged.