Afterward, I sat quietly with my phone.
Zach had known Emma wanted my dress. He’d known I was making it. Yet he’d convinced Stacy that Emma needed rescuing from my efforts.
It was the same story he’d been telling about our marriage.
He provided.
I struggled.
He succeeded.
I made do.
And now Emma was learning to repeat his judgments, even when she didn’t realize what they meant.
I called Zach the following evening while Emma was at a friend’s house.
“I need to talk to you about Halloween,” I said.
He sighed.
“Are we seriously still doing this?”
“Yes. Because Emma has been worrying about whether I can afford groceries and school supplies.”
“I was checking that she’s taken care of.”
“Then ask me. Don’t make her worry about it.”
“I’m allowed to know whether my daughter has what she needs.”
“Absolutely. And when I asked you to help with things she needed, you told me to figure it out myself.”
