Later, I discussed the incident with the family therapist.
She reminded me that rebuilding trust involved more than avoiding frightening situations.
Sophia needed to learn that adults could feel upset without turning those feelings into punishment.
That meant I had to model what healthy frustration looked like.
I needed to say when something bothered me.
I needed to take responsibility when I handled it poorly.
And I needed to demonstrate that anger could pass without anyone being hurt or humiliated.
It was difficult work.
But it was necessary.
As summer approached, I began taking Sophia on the kinds of small outings we'd enjoyed before Patricia entered our lives.
We visited the bookstore on Saturday mornings.
We walked through the park near her grandmother's house.
We went to a museum where Sophia spent almost an hour examining a painting of a yellow house surrounded by sunflowers.
Sometimes we did nothing special.
We sat on the back porch eating fruit.
We watered the garden.
We watched old cartoons.
I began to understand that Sophia didn't need constant entertainment to feel loved.
She needed to know I was available.
That I would listen when she asked a question.
That I wouldn't disappear every time work became demanding.
That my affection wasn't dependent on how well she behaved.
One afternoon, we were planting flowers near the fence when Sophia looked toward me.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Are you ever going to get married again?"
The question surprised me.
I set down the small shovel.
"I don't know."
She looked at the flowers.
"Do you want to?"
I considered my answer.
"Maybe someday. But it's not something I'm thinking about right now."
Sophia nodded.
Then she asked, "What if somebody doesn't like me?"
I felt my chest tighten.
I moved closer.
"Then they wouldn't be the right person to join our family."
She looked up.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Really."
She considered that.
Then she whispered, "Patricia said grown-ups need grown-up love."
I took a breath.
"Adults do need relationships and support. But loving another adult should never require me to stop protecting or loving my child."
Sophia stared.
Then she nodded slowly.
"Okay."
For a while, we returned to planting flowers.
Then she asked another question.
"Did Mommy make you happy?"
I smiled sadly.
"Very."
Sophia looked toward me.
"Do you miss her?"
I nodded.
"Every day."
She considered that.
Then she said, "I think she would like our flowers."
I looked toward the bright yellow blossoms we'd placed along the fence.
I smiled.
"I think so too."
On the anniversary of her mother's death, Sophia asked to visit the cemetery.