That was no longer something I could control.
What I could control was making sure Sadie never again felt she had to hide pain to protect an adult.
Her recovery went well.
The follow-up scans were reassuring.
She gradually returned to normal activities, although she sometimes complained about the scar from surgery.
One afternoon, I found her looking at it in the bathroom mirror.
“Do you hate it?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No.”
She touched the small mark gently.
“It’s just weird.”
I stood beside her.
“It reminds me that I went through something scary.”
I smiled.
“And that you got through it.”
She looked at me.
“Because you took me to the hospital.”
I wrapped my arms around her.
“Because you told me you were hurting. And because you deserved to be heard.”
She leaned against me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said:
