That mattered more than anyone’s explanation of motive.
Months passed before Mia and I were able to spend an ordinary Saturday together again.
Linda brought her over in the morning.
Mia walked straight into the kitchen and asked for pancakes.
I made the first one too dark.
She complained exactly the way she used to.
Then she stole three blueberries from the bowl while pretending I couldn’t see her.
For nearly an hour, nobody talked about cards, recordings, attorneys, or crying.
After breakfast, Mia opened her backpack.
I felt my entire body tense before I could stop it.
She noticed.
Then she smiled.
From the same outside pocket where Claire’s laminated instructions had once been kept, Mia pulled out a new card inside a clear plastic sleeve.
She had made it herself with markers.
There were no dates.
No boxes.
No black-button instructions.
Across the top she had written SATURDAY in crooked purple letters. Underneath were three things: pancakes, movie, pizza.
Beside each one was an empty gold star.
I laughed before I realized my eyes were wet.
Mia put the card on the refrigerator and handed me the marker.
I told her they were her stars, so she should decide when we earned them.
She thought about that for a second, drew one beside pancakes, and took the marker back from me.
Then she looked up and said, ‘I make the rules on this card, Daddy.’
