"Are you waiting for something?"
She hesitated.
"Patricia gets home at four."
I looked at the time.
Three-twenty.
Sophia's breathing changed.
"I need to put the clothes away."
I shook my head.
"No."
She stared.
"But she'll see."
I moved closer.
"Let me handle that."
Sophia lowered her voice.
"She'll think I told."
I felt a cold weight settle in my stomach.
"Why is that frightening?"
She looked toward the doorway.
Then she whispered, "Because she says you won't come home early anymore if I make you worry."
I stared at her.
"What?"
Sophia's eyes filled.
"She says you're already tired because of me."
The words struck harder than anything I'd heard all afternoon.
I thought about the nights I'd arrived home late.
The business trips.
The missed dinners.
The times Sophia had asked me to read a story, only for me to say I had one more email to answer.
I thought about how easily Patricia could point to those absences and make her lies believable.
I swallowed.
"Sweetheart, I work because I have responsibilities. You are not the reason I'm tired."
Sophia looked confused.
I continued.
"And nothing you tell me will make me love you less or stop wanting to come home."
Her lower lip trembled.
"Even if it's bad?"
I nodded.
"Especially when it's important."
She stared at me for a long time.
Then she whispered, "I tried to tell you before."
My heart seemed to stop.
"When?"
She looked toward the hallway.
"A lot."
I took a slow breath.
"How did you try?"
Sophia rubbed her fingers together.
"I wrote letters."
I stared.
"Letters?"
She nodded.
"To you."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Where are they?"
Her eyes moved toward the staircase.
Then she lowered her voice.
"Patricia took them."
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Sophia continued.
"She said you didn't want to read them."
I felt as though someone had punched the air out of my lungs.
I looked toward my daughter.
"She told you that?"
Sophia nodded.
"She said you were too busy."
I closed my eyes.
Then I forced myself to remain calm.
"Where did she put them?"
Sophia hesitated.
"I don't know."
She looked toward the stairs again.
Then she whispered something that made every muscle in my body tighten.
"But I saw her carrying a brown box into her bedroom."
I leaned forward.
"What box?"
"A big one."
She held her hands apart.
"With tape."
I waited.
Sophia continued.
"She thought I was asleep. But I heard her talking on the phone."
"What did she say?"
My daughter looked frightened again.