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“I think she’s a witch” She put the red pencil down then searched the table for the pink crayon When she found it, she pressed it to the paper and filled in her lines

I haltedand stared at her “A witch?”

“Because she can do ic”

“Claire, what do you mean by that?” My voice deepened with a hint of panic, i about that horrible place that held her captive for s like this before

“She o away She made the o away”

I stared at hter, watched her color like she hadn’t just said so “Are you sad, sweetheart?” It was so hard to ask the question, to keep my broken heart in my throat

“Sometimes”

“Why?”

She kept coloring, her eyes down “Is Mo back?”

My eyes instinctively closed because the et her weekends with her h to know so was different

I was left with this burden

This terrible fucking burden

Like every father who ever existed, I asked myself the question

Should I lie?

A lie would only buy me time She was too smart for that “No”

Claire’s hand e, her sadness visible

Just fucking kill me

She asked the question that I didn’t want her to ask “Why?” This time, she looked up and met my look The saoodness and innocence

I didn’t have an answer “She needs to focus on herself for a while…”

“Did I do so—”

“No” This time, my voice choked Couldn’t stand the question Couldn’t even let her finish it “You did nothing wrong, sweetheart Don’t think that—not even for a second And you always have me”

Her fingers grasped her pencil, the tip pressed to the last place where she’d colored “In the forest…it didn’t seem like she wanted me around…but Constance alanted me around”