Chapter 8 - RYAN—NO, MY NAME WAS DANIEL, AND THAT MATTEREDI almost lost myself too.
For weeks, every conversation became:
Vanessa.
Julian.
Marcus.
Foundation.
Sophie.
Police.
Lawyers.
I became investigator instead of father.
My sister called me out.
“You keep talking about files.”
“I need facts.”
“You also have a six-year-old who wants pancakes.”
That stopped me.
So I cooked pancakes.
Badly.
Sophie ate three.
Then asked:
“Are you mad I told?”
“No.”
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
Her face tightened.
I saw it.
Then I corrected immediately.
“But my sadness is not your job.”
She stared.
“What job?”
“Exactly.”
She smiled.
That became a family phrase.
May you like
Adult feelings:
Not Sophie’s job.
