Sophie, meanwhile, asked about Mara approximately 47 times by Wednesday. Her questions ranging from, “Does she like space?” to, “What if she thinks I’m weird?” to the particularly loaded, “Will she stay if she doesn’t like me?” By Friday night, Ethan was a mess of anxiety and regret. He stood in Sophie’s doorway, watching her sleep, her dark curls spread across the pillow, one arm wrapped around the stuffed elephant Sarah had given her for her fourth birthday.

The elephant’s fur was matted from years of constant companionship. One ear hanging by threads, Sophie refused to let him repair. “I hope I’m doing the right thing,” he whispered to the sleeping child to Sarah’s ghost. To whatever force in the universe determined whether desperate fathers made good or catastrophic choices. “Sophie stirred but didn’t wake.

” Ethan pulled her door mostly closed and went to his own room, where sleep came in fractured pieces between dreams of coffee shops and empty spaces and question marks waiting to be filled. Saturday morning arrived gray and cold but mercifully dry. Sophie woke up early, bursting into Ethan’s room at 6:30 with the kind of energy that suggested she’d been awake for hours planning this moment.

Is today the day? Is it today? When do we meet her? What should I wear? Should I bring something? Does she like drawings? I made her one just in case, but maybe that’s weird. Is it weird, Daddy? Ethan pulled himself into consciousness with effort. It’s today. We’re meeting her at noon. You can wear whatever you want.

And the drawing isn’t weird. It’s thoughtful. What if she doesn’t like it? Then she’ll still appreciate that you made it. What if she doesn’t like me? Ethan sat up, pulling Sophie onto the bed beside him. Then she’s missing out on knowing an amazing kid who likes space and asks good questions and makes people laugh even when they’re sad.

Sophie leaned against him, small and warm and terrified in the way children are when they sense something significant is happening but can’t quite grasp its shape. What if I don’t like her? She asked quietly. Then we thank her for trying and we don’t see her again. Your feelings are what matter most, Sophie girl. Always. They spent the morning in careful distraction.

Pancakes for breakfast, a cartoon Sophie had seen a dozen times, organizing her rock collection by color, and then by size, and then by which ones looked like they might be from outer space. By 11:30, Sophie had changed outfits three times and was wearing her favorite purple sweatshirt with a constellation pattern, jeans with permanent grass stains on the knees, and the lightup sneakers she’d gotten for her birthday.

“Do I look okay?” she asked, spinning in a circle. You look perfect. You have to say that. You’re my dad. I have to say it because it’s true. They drove to the park in relative silence, Sophie’s nervous energy filling the car like static electricity. Ethan’s hands were sweating on the steering wheel.

He texted Mara that morning, still on for noon, and gotten back a single word. Yes. The park was moderately crowded for a late January Saturday. Families clustered around the playground equipment. Dogs chased tennis balls in the open field. A group of teenagers occupied the basketball court with varying degrees of skill and enthusiasm.

The air smelled like damp earth and someone’s distant barbecue. Ethan spotted Mara immediately. She sat on a bench near the swings, wearing dark jeans and a gray jacket, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders. She wasn’t looking at her phone or reading a book, just sitting watching the park activity with that same focused attention she’d directed at him in the coffee shop.

“Is that her?” Sophie whispered, suddenly shy. “That’s her. She looks normal. What were you expecting?” “I don’t know. Something different.” Sophie gripped Ethan’s hand tighter. “I’m scared, Daddy.” “Me, too, sweetheart. But sometimes the scary things are worth doing anyway. They approached the bench slowly, Sophie half hiding behind Ethan’s legs.

Mara looked up as they got close, and something shifted in her expression. Not the practice smile of adults performing for children, but genuine nervousness mixed with hope. “Hi,” Mara said, directing the word to Sophie rather than Ethan. “You must be Sophie. Your dad’s told me a lot about you.” Sophie peered out from behind Ethan’s leg. He told me about you, too.

He said you’re his friend. I am. I hope I can be your friend, too, if you want. Maybe. Sophie stepped out slightly, evaluating Mara with the brutal honesty of seven-year-old assessment. Do you like space? I love space. My favorite planet is Saturn because the rings are basically impossible and beautiful at the same time.

Mine’s Jupiter because it has the most moons and it’s really big and it protects Earth from asteroids. Sophie took another step forward. Did you know Jupiter is like Earth’s bodyguard? I did know that. Did you know some of Jupiter’s moons might have oceans under their ice? Europa might have twice as much water as Earth. Sophie’s eyes went wide.

Could there be fish? Maybe not fish, but maybe something alive. Scientists are planning missions to find out. Just like that, the ice broke. Sophie moved fully out from behind Ethan, her fear temporarily overridden by her passion for space facts. Mara listened with what appeared to be genuine interest as Sophie launched into an explanation of why she wanted to be an astronaut and how many light years away the nearest star was and whether Mars colonization would happen in her lifetime.

Ethan stood to the side, watching this interaction with a mix of relief and terror. Mara wasn’t performing. She was engaging, asking follow-up questions, admitting when she didn’t know something, treating Sophie like a person rather than a child to be patronized. “Can I show you the good swings?” Sophie asked suddenly.

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