Her stepmother moved forward.
I moved between them.
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
My daughter took another step.
This time her hand shook.
I reached toward her, but she steadied herself on the walker.
“I can do it,” she whispered.
So I let her.
That was the moment I realized how much of this had been happening without me seeing it. She did not want me to carry her. She wanted the chance to use the support she had been given and move under her own control.
Her stepmother had taken even that choice away.
I asked my daughter whether there had been other times when the walker disappeared.
She nodded.
“Sometimes it was in the closet.”
“Sometimes?”
“Sometimes behind the laundry door.”
“And today?”
She looked toward the far side of the bedroom.
“Today she put it there because you were coming home.”
My stomach tightened.
The woman beside the dresser immediately shook her head.
