He had accepted the answer because he wanted it to be true.
Now he understood that a child's silence could hide an entire world.
That night, the father returned to the marital house alone.
His wife was waiting in the living room.
She wore a soft gray sweater and held a cup of tea.
For the first time since the incident, she looked tired.
There were dark circles beneath her eyes.
She stood when he entered.
"Can we please talk like adults?"
He placed his keys on the table.
"Yes."
She gestured toward the sofa.
He remained standing for a moment.
Then he sat in the armchair opposite her.
She looked hurt.
"You're sitting all the way over there?"
He said nothing.
She sighed.
"I've had time to think."
He waited.
"I shouldn't have taken the chicken."
The words surprised him.
He looked up.
She continued.
"I was frustrated. She had been difficult. I lost my patience."
The father listened.
"I'm sorry."
He nodded slowly.
"Thank you for saying that."
His wife looked relieved.
"Then can we stop doing this?"
He frowned.
"Doing what?"
"Treating me like I'm dangerous."
He sat back.
"I appreciate the apology. But there's more we need to address."
Her expression tightened.
"Of course there is."
"My daughter told me she's afraid to ask for food."
His wife looked away.
"She's exaggerating."
"She has snacks hidden in her bedroom."
"Because she sneaks food."
"She said she hides it in case she's hungry."
His wife threw up her hands.
"Children make things up!"
The father studied her.
"Do you understand why she might be afraid of you?"
His wife stared.
"I'm her stepmother. I'm supposed to be an authority figure."
"That wasn't my question."
She looked toward the window.
He continued.
"She thinks you might send her away."
His wife turned sharply.
"I never said I would do that."
"Did you tell her difficult children sometimes have to live somewhere else?"
She hesitated.
"That was a figure of speech."
"She's ten."
"She knew I wasn't serious."
"She didn't."
The woman pressed her lips together.