And they made an extraordinary mess with glitter glue.
I watched from the kitchen doorway.
At one point, Sophia laughed so loudly that she nearly fell off her chair.
I felt tears rising.
Not because anything dramatic had happened.
But because the house was finally beginning to sound like a house with a child living in it.
When her friend left, Sophia approached me nervously.
"Sorry about the mess."
I looked at the table.
It was covered with paper scraps, colored pencils, and several spots of glitter.
I smiled.
"Looks like two artists had a good afternoon."
Sophia laughed.
Then we cleaned it together.
No punishment.
No threats.
No requirement that she skip dinner until everything was perfect.
Just the ordinary responsibility of putting away the things we'd used.
And when we finished, I made grilled cheese sandwiches.
Sophia ate hers while describing every picture she'd drawn.
I listened.
All the way to the end.
There were still difficult days.
One morning, Sophia became frightened when I raised my voice during a telephone conversation with a contractor. I wasn't angry with her, and the call had nothing to do with anything happening at home, but when I turned around, she was standing in the hallway with tears in her eyes.
I immediately ended the conversation.
Then I approached slowly.
"Sweetheart?"
She shook her head.
"I'm sorry."
I felt my chest tighten.
"Why are you apologizing?"
She looked toward the floor.
"I thought you were mad."
I took a breath.
"I was frustrated about a work problem."
She nodded.
Then she whispered, "Patricia used to get mad like that before she gave me extra chores."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
I wanted to reassure her that I wasn't Patricia.
I wanted to explain that I would never treat her that way.
But the therapist had helped me understand that fear isn't always persuaded by logic.
Sometimes a familiar sound or expression brings back a memory before the person experiencing it has time to think.
So I sat on the bench near the hallway.
"I understand why that scared you."
Sophia looked up.
I continued.
"I should have taken that call somewhere else or lowered my voice. I'm sorry I frightened you."
She hesitated.
"Are you mad at me?"
I shook my head.
"No."
She looked toward the kitchen.
"Do I have to clean something?"
I felt tears rising.
"No, sweetheart."
For several seconds, she stood motionless.
Then she moved closer.
I held out my hand.
She took it.
We sat together quietly until her breathing returned to normal.