“You never have to choose.”
That was when she started crying.
Quietly.
“I like hearing about her.”
“I know.”
“And him.”
“I know.”
“But I love you and Dad.”
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My husband knelt beside us.
“We know.”
I kissed her hair.
“You are allowed to miss people you don’t remember. You are allowed to love them. You can ask about them every day if you want.”
She looked at me.
“Really?”
“Really.”
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“None of that takes anything away from us.”
Behind her, Mr. Harris was crying again.
And suddenly I understood why.
He had spent years believing that loving the family he remained with meant accepting that Isabella had chosen another life.
Sophie had spent years believing that loving the family she lost might somehow hurt the one she had.
Both of them had mistaken silence for rejection.
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The next morning, Mr. Harris met Sophie at the school entrance.
She looked up at him.
“Do I call you Uncle Mr. Harris at school?”
He smiled.
“Probably not during assembly.”
“What about lunch?”
“We can negotiate.”
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Inside the classroom, Mrs. Parker was waiting.
She crouched beside Sophie’s desk.
“Sophie, I owe you an apology.”
Sophie watched her.
“I shouldn’t have called your photograph inappropriate. I should have asked you why it mattered.”
Sophie nodded.
Then Mrs. Parker asked:
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“Would you still like to use it for your project?”
Sophie thought about it.
“Can I use two?”
Mrs. Parker smiled.
“You can use as many as you need.”
Three weeks later, parents were invited to see the completed family projects displayed in the hallway.
Twenty-three pieces of construction paper covered the wall.
I found Sophie’s immediately.
At the top, written in purple marker, were the words:
