I stared at the supply list.
The man who had encouraged me to leave my job, then refused to help when Emma needed shoes, was now making our daughter question whether her home was secure.
“Emma, do you ever worry we won’t have enough food?”
She looked embarrassed.
“Sometimes. But there’s always food.”
“Then why worry?”
“Because Dad asks about it.”
That answer hurt more than anything Zach had said in my kitchen.
I told Emma that asking for school supplies wasn’t a burden. Paying bills and managing money were adult responsibilities, and I was handling them.
“If something ever changes, that’s for me to figure out,” I said. “Not you.”
She nodded.
Then she said something I hadn’t expected.
“That’s why I picked the blue dress.”
I looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw other princess dresses too. But that one looked like something you could make with the fabric you already had.”
