She entered relationships with fathers and attempted to reorganize the family until she occupied the center.
Children became competition.
Former partners became enemies.
Memories became threats.
Nathan drove home and found Emily drawing at the kitchen table.
“What are you making?”
“Our family.”
Nathan sat beside her.
There were three people.
Emily.
Nathan.
Sarah.
No Vanessa.
Sarah was drawn above them among yellow stars.
Nathan pointed.
“Mommy is flying?”
Emily nodded.
“She can see us.”
Then she hesitated.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you still marrying Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
Emily studied him.
“You promise?”
Nathan realized she expected answers to change.
“Yes.”
She lowered her voice.
“Even if I’m bad?”
Nathan's chest tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“Vanessa said if I'm bad enough you'll pick her because grown-ups pick other grown-ups.”
Nathan moved beside Emily.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“You cannot lose me by being a kid.”
“What if I yell?”
“Still your dad.”
“What if I spill juice?”
“Still your dad.”
“What if I don't like your girlfriend?”
Nathan smiled sadly.
“Still your dad.”
“What if I don't want another mommy?”
“You don't need another mommy.”
Emily's eyes filled.
“I already have one.”
“I know.”
“She died.”
“I know.”
“But she's still my mommy.”
“Always.”
Emily started crying.
Nathan held her.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then she whispered:
“Vanessa said you would forget her.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
“I won't.”
“She said when you're married, Mommy pictures go in boxes.”
“They don't.”
“She already put some in the garage.”
Nathan pulled back.
“What?”
Emily took his hand.
She led him upstairs.
Sarah's photographs had always been kept in a small cabinet in Emily's room.
Half were missing.
Nathan checked the garage.
Three boxes sat behind camping equipment.
He opened the first.
Photographs.
Sarah's clothes.
Books.