“Careful.”
Renee ignored her.
“And every time I try creating something, Amara reminds me how her mother did it.”
I pulled away from Dad.
“I don't—”
Dad touched my shoulder.
“Let her finish.”
Renee cried harder.
“I know she's a child.”
“I know Camille died.”
“I know I sound awful.”
“But I live in a marriage with a woman who isn't here.”
Dad stared.
“No.”
Renee blinked.
“No?”
“You live in a family that existed before you joined it.”
“That is different.”
She shook her head.
“You don't see it.”
“You never see it.”
“Every time I say something, you think I’m jealous of a dead woman.”
“Are you?”
Silence.
There it was.
Dad waited.
Renee looked away.
“I don't know.”
Dad closed his eyes.
For a moment, I saw heartbreak.
He loved her.
That had not vanished because she knocked down a tree.
That was one of the first adult truths I learned that day.
Love and trust are not the same thing.
Love does not automatically know what to do when trust breaks.
Dad looked toward Malik and Zoe.
They were still standing near hallway.
His voice softened.
“Kids.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“Okay?”
Malik nodded.
Zoe started crying.
Renee immediately moved toward her.
Zoe stepped backward.
That hurt Renee visibly.
Dad saw.
So did Grandma.
Dad said:
“Pearl.”
“Yes?”
“Can you take all three kids upstairs?”
Renee snapped:
“My children stay with me.”
Dad looked at her.
“I am not separating them from you.”
“I need ten minutes to talk without three children listening.”
Grandma looked at Zoe and Malik.
“Come.”
They hesitated.
Renee nodded reluctantly.
I did not want to leave Dad.
He noticed.
“Amara.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Grandma put a hand on my shoulder.
“Come help me find a box.”
“For what?”
She looked toward broken ornaments.
“We save what can be saved.”
I followed her.
Upstairs, none of us spoke for a while.
Grandma found an old storage bin.
Malik sat on my bed.
Zoe stood near window.
Finally she whispered: