Samantha sat beside me as I nursed Seth, and she searched for ways to stall the approaching bedtime.
“Mama. I’m thirsty. I need water. And chocolate milk.”
“Sam-baby, my hands are full. You’ll need to go talk to your daddy about this.”
And so she skipped out of the room to where her daddy was making ready her bed.
A few minutes later, she returned, silent, sad. She scrunched into the recliner, with tears in her eyes.
“Samantha, what’s wrong?” I asked, concerned as she so rarely cries.
With a sob caught in her throat, she responded, “Daddy won’t let me have anything to drink.”
I called out for Joshua, beginning to get upset.
Here’s the missing scene:
Samantha skips into the room as Josh fights with the fitted sheet. “Daddy! I can’t drink in my sleep!”
Daddy responded: “You’re right. You can’t.”
And so she left, her heart shattered.
Is the world in my children’s heads as skewed as the glimpses I’m getting?