Page 166 of Cinder
She squints like she’s trying to drag a picture out of fog but can’t. After a second, she gives up, shoulders slumping as she looks back at herself in the mirror instead. I keep brushing. Slow strokes, untangling ends that don’t really need untangling anymore.
“I like Penny better,” she says softly.
Me too.
I set the brush down carefully on the dresser before I can snap the handle clean in my hand. Then I turn to pull her blankets down. She climbs into bed, watching me more carefully now, like she knows she’s stepping into a delicate conversation.
“Can’t Penny be my mom?”
I kneel down and tug the blanket up around her shoulders, tucking it in gently to buy myself a second, smoothing her hair back from her face.
“You’re allowed to love who you love,” I tell her quietly.
“Is it not nice to say that?”
My head shakes quickly. “No. Your feelings are yours. You don’t have to make them nicer for anyone.”
She searches my face again in the low lamplight as she processes that, then her fingers curl into the edge of her blanket. I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead.
“I love Penny,” she whispers.
Me too.
“I know,” I murmur, throat tightening.
Her hand reaches up to close around mine, and those big blue eyes look up at me again.
“Do you love Penny too, Daddy?”
The question is so quiet I almost miss it, and I don’t answer straight away because this isn’t about grand declarations. It’s about what she’s really asking. Is she safe to love Penny? Is it okay? Is this allowed?
I smooth my thumb over the back of her hand.
“Yeah, bug,” I say finally. “I love Penny, too.”
Her face changes, and something unclenches behind her eyes.
“Okay,” she breathes.
She doesn’t ask anything else after that, and her hand slips from mine as her eyes close, this time ready to fall asleep. I sit there listening to her breathing even out and feeling the weight of what she just handed me without even knowing it.
Down the hall, Penny moves softly in the kitchen. I hear a cabinet door close and water running as she turns a tap on then off. Normal sounds.
And I sit there in the dark with a realization deep in my bones.
Protecting my daughter doesn’t mean keeping doors closed.
It means holding them steady while she figures out who feels safe enough to walk through them.
***
The rink smells like artificially cold air and buttered popcorn. There’s a hundred bodies packed too close together, with the FD on one side in red, PD on the other in navy. The stands are louder than they have any right to be for a charity cup that mostly exists so we can chirp each other for the next twelve months.
Fletch is already jawing from the bench before puck drop.
“Tucker, you skate like you’re towing a trailer.”
He skates past us with a grin. “At least I can pass, Fletch. Try aiming for your own teammates this time, eh?”
