Chapter 9 - Lily starts checking doors
Children notice systems.
Within a week, Lily developed a routine.
Front door.
Back door.
Garage door.
Bedroom.
She would ask:
“Locked?”
“Yes.”
“Check?”
“We checked.”
“Again?”
At first I checked.
Every time.
Because I wanted her calm.
Our therapist later helped me understand that reassurance can become part of fear’s machinery.
We created one nighttime check.
Together.
Front.
Patio.
Garage.
Then done.
If Lily asked later:
“We already checked.”
She hated that at first.
Then her body learned.
She also stopped sleeping alone for eleven nights.
I let her sleep beside me.
Daniel was staying at a furnished apartment by then.
Not because I had decided to divorce.
Because I could not lie in bed beside him while wondering how much else I did not know.
Lily asked:
“Is Dad in trouble?”
“Yes.”
“With police?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he make the man come?”
“No.”
That much I believed.
“Then why isn’t he here?”
I thought.
“Because Mom and Dad need some space while we figure out what happened.”
She frowned.
“Did he lie?”
Eight-year-olds ask the clean question adults avoid.
“Yes.”
“About the man?”
“About danger.”
She absorbed that.
Then:
“Is he sorry?”
“Yes.”
“Can sorry fix doors?”
“No.”
“What fixes doors?”
I smiled despite myself.
“Locks.”
May you like
She nodded.
Children sometimes need literal answers.
