Page 49 of The Widower
Yeah, I was back there again—with the tiny, talking version of Isabelle, who somehow manages to talk even more than her mother. Today she was even more energetic than yesterday, and I couldn’t help wondering if she was like this every single day.
“I used to like it more,” I said.
“Hmm. You used to play here with your daughter?”
“Yes. A lot.”
Maddison never let me work unless I came here first—or joined her for tea with her dolls. I was terrible at pretending to drink tea or coffee, always spilling something or sitting wrong, but she didn’t care. She always laughed. Or maybe she just hid it well.
“Did your mom tell you when you start preschool?”I asked, trying to change the subject. I still felt awkward every time Hanna brought up anything from my past.
“Oh, I don’t know when it starts, but I’d rather stay here.”
Kids...
“Well, to stay here, you have to go to school first,” I said lightly but with a hint of seriousness.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay, then I’ll go.”
I smiled.
That little girl...
“Do you remember your dad?”
Yeah, that one caught me off guard. After what Isabelle told me—that Hanna’s father had abandoned them—I’d wondered a few times what might have really happened.
But I never asked Isabelle about it. Asking something that personal would only invite her to do the same, and I’m not exactly eager to talk about my past. Even asking a child that question made me feel like an idiot.
“Um... just a little,” she said casually, as if it didn’t matter much.
“I see.”
That was a mistake. I was already trying to think of a way to steer the conversation elsewhere. Isabelle’s personal life wasn’t my business, and I didn’t need to dig where I shouldn’t.
“My daddy left home,” Hanna said softly, “and he left me and Mommy all alone. She cried a lot.”
You weren’t supposed to say that, Hanna.
Her words hit me harder than I expected, and regret immediately sank in. I shouldn’t have brought it up.
“He used to squeeze Mommy’s arm, pinch her, and... hit her too.”
“How do you know that?!” I didn’t even know if I was angry or just stunned that a child her age could remember something like that.
“Mommy and Grandma talked about it once. I heard them.”
Exactly what I didn’t need today—anger.
Not today.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I stopped the swing and took her small hands in mine. I had no idea where the words came from, but they did.
“Your dad’s never going to hurt your mom again. One day, she’s going to find someone you’ll get to call ‘Dad,’ and he’ll treat both of you the way you deserve.”
