under one arm.
Most of the pages were finished now.
She climbed into the chair beside me and asked what was in the folder.
“Something I should have looked at a long time ago,” I said.
She considered that, then opened her coloring book to the purple horse with the green mane.
“Grandma said she wants to buy me a new one because this one is almost done.”
“Do you want a new one?”
Lily shrugged.
“Maybe later. I like this one. You picked it.”
I looked at the cheap book my parents had made seem humiliating because it was the only thing their granddaughter held while thousands of dollars in presents surrounded her.
They had measured that room by price tags.
Lily hadn’t.
She only remembered who had thought of her.
I closed the folder and pushed it away from the edge of the desk.
On Easter night, I had believed I was finally calculating what my parents had taken from me.
The audit showed me something more important.
They had spent years deciding that my competence meant I could be given less consideration, less honesty, and more responsibility.
I couldn’t recover every year I had accepted that arrangement.
But I could make sure Lily never learned to call neglect independence just because the people neglecting her were family.
She leaned against my arm and pointed to the last uncolored page.
“Mommy, will you do this one with me?”
I picked up the blue pencil.
“Yes, baby. This time, I’m right here.”
