My four-year-old daughter and my niece accidentally wore almost identical dresses to Sunday dinner, and both girls were delighted. My older sister wasn’t. She demanded that I change my daughter, then lost her temper at the table and hur:led a skiIIet of fri:ed chicken toward her. But while my terri:fi:ed little girl clung to me covered in sauce, my mother didn’t blame my sister. She looked at me and said, “I told you to change her dress.”

PART 12
Mia began seeing a child therapist named Dr. Helen Morris.

At first, I worried it was too much.

Maybe I was making the event bigger by putting her in therapy.

Dr. Morris corrected me gently.

“Therapy doesn’t tell children something was terrible.”

“It gives them a safe place to understand what they already felt.”

That helped.

Mia drew pictures.

Lots of blue dresses.

Lots of tables.

For several sessions, every drawing had a red blob in the corner.

Then one week, it disappeared.

Dr. Morris told me not to push.

So I did not.

Mia slowly stopped asking whether she could wear certain colors around relatives.

She stopped flinching when something clattered in the kitchen.

She started talking about Sophie again.

“I miss her.”

“I know.”

“Is Aunt Vanessa still mad?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can Sophie come here?”

That question was harder.

Eventually, Eric and I arranged it.

Sophie came to our apartment one Saturday.

No Vanessa.

No Mom.

Just the girls.

When Sophie walked in, Mia hugged her.

Then both girls ran to Mia’s room.

Ten minutes later, they came out wearing princess costumes.

Both purple.

I nearly cried.

Eric saw my face.

He smiled sadly.

“They still like matching.”

“Yes.”

“They always did.”

That was the truth.

The children had never been the problem.