Her laugh.
Or close.
“That’s weird,” she said.
Luke smiled.
“What?”
“Your laugh.”
“Oh.”
“I think I have it.”
Luke’s eyes filled.
“Maybe.”
Silence.
Then Sophie asked, “Are you sober?”
Daniel almost choked.
Dr. Shah remained impressively neutral.
Luke nodded.
“Five years and eight months.”
“Is that hard?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still want alcohol?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you do?”
“Call people. Go to meetings. Remember what happened when I thought wanting something meant I had to do it.”
Sophie considered.
“Dad drinks beer sometimes.”
Luke smiled.
“That isn’t the same problem for everybody.”
“I know.”
Another silence.
“Do you hate Dad?”
Luke’s face changed.
“No.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked down.
Sophie continued.
“Why?”
“Because he became your father.”
“He already was.”
Luke closed his eyes.
When he opened them, tears were visible.
“I know.”
Sophie looked uncertain.
Daniel wanted to step in.
He stayed.
Luke continued.
“I thought if I admitted Daniel was your dad, that meant I had never mattered.”
“Did you?”
“What?”
“Did you matter?”
Luke stared.
“I hope I did when you were a baby.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I know.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yes.”
Sophie looked toward Daniel briefly.
Then back at the screen.
“Mom loved you once?”
Luke smiled painfully.
“Yes.”
“Then you mattered to her.”
Luke’s face crumpled.
Daniel turned away.
Children sometimes found mercies adults were too ashamed to ask for.
The call lasted twenty-two minutes.
No promises.
No plans for immediate meetings.
At the end Sophie said, “Bye, Luke.”
Not Dad.
Luke accepted it.
“Bye, Sophie.”
Three months later they met in person.
Public park.
Daniel present.
Dr. Shah nearby initially.
Carol waited elsewhere because too many adults would make the meeting feel like an event.
Luke arrived early.
He carried nothing.
Daniel appreciated that.
No gifts.
No symbolic stuffed animal.
No attempt to purchase emotion.
Sophie walked toward him.
Luke stood.
The resemblance was stronger in person.
Hair.
Eyes.
The shape of the mouth.