I stayed upstairs with Lily.
The bedroom door was almost closed, but I could still hear the adults downstairs.
Dad was speaking.
His voice sounded tired.
"I didn't want to upset her. That's all."
Grandma answered quietly.
"Then why didn't you comfort her?"
There was no immediate reply.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
My feet didn't reach the floor properly.
I kept looking at the little wooden box near the window.
Lily's broken arm was inside.
I wanted to take it out, but I was afraid I might damage it further.
Downstairs, Dad continued explaining.
He said the birthday had been stressful.
He said people had asked too many questions.
He said he hadn't known what to do when I became upset.
Grandma listened.
Then she asked him something.
"Did you ever ask her what she needed?"
He didn't answer.
I heard my aunt move a chair.
Then Dad spoke again.
"She's a child. She doesn't understand how complicated things can become."
Grandma's reply was immediate.
"Being a child doesn't make her feelings less important."
I looked at the door.
I had heard people say I was too young to understand things.
But nobody had ever considered that perhaps I understood more than they thought.
I knew when Dad was angry.
I knew when he wanted me to stop talking.
I knew when I was expected to smile.
And I knew when he didn't want anyone looking at me.
Downstairs, the conversation continued.
Grandma asked about the photographs.
Dad explained that the photographer had taken several pictures before the cake was cut.
He said everyone had been happy.
He said the evening had gone well.
Then Grandma asked whether he remembered what I had been wearing.
Silence.
I looked down at my pajamas.
I remembered my wrinkled party dress.
I remembered trying to smooth the front with my hands.
I remembered wondering whether the photographer would notice me if I stood near the staircase.
Dad finally answered.
"She had a dress on."
Grandma asked what color it was.
He didn't know.
That answer hurt more than I expected.
He had remembered the cake.
He had remembered the guests.
He had remembered the photographs.
But he couldn't remember the color of my dress.
I pressed Lily against my stomach.
Then I heard Grandma speak again.
"She was waiting for you to let her join the party."
Dad sighed.
"Mom, I can't change what happened."
"No. But you can stop pretending it didn't matter."
The room became quiet.
A few seconds later, my aunt came upstairs.
She knocked softly.
"Can I come in?"
I nodded.
She sat beside me.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Yes."
She looked at Lily.
"Still waiting for her arm?"
I nodded.
"Grandma found someone who might be able to help repair it."
I smiled a little.
Then I asked about Dad.
My aunt looked toward the door.
"He's talking with Grandma."
"Is he angry?"
"He's upset, but the adults are handling it."
I stared at my hands.
"Does he think I lied?"
My aunt took a breath.
"I don't know exactly what he's thinking. But you deserve to be listened to, and the people responsible for helping you need to understand what happened."
I nodded.
She stayed for a while.
Then she told me that I could come downstairs whenever I felt ready.
I wasn't ready.
Not yet.
A little later, Grandma came upstairs.
She didn't enter immediately.
She knocked.
"May I sit with you?"
I moved the blanket aside.
She sat beside me.
"Your father has gone home for now."
I looked at her.
"Did he take the photographs?"
"Yes."
I thought about the folder.
"Was he angry?"
Grandma considered her answer.
"He wasn't happy with the conversation."
I looked down.
Then I asked something that had been bothering me.
"Did he say he was sorry?"
Grandma didn't lie.
"Not yet."
I nodded.
I wasn't sure whether I wanted an apology.
I wanted things to be different.
I wanted to stop checking people's faces before I spoke.
I wanted to stop feeling guilty whenever someone looked disappointed.
Grandma gently touched my shoulder.
"You don't have to decide how you feel about everything today."
I leaned against her.
For the rest of the afternoon, we stayed upstairs.
She read me a story.
I held Lily.
And for once, the house was quiet without feeling frightening.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: My Aunt Found Something in the Old Family Album, and Suddenly Grandma Wanted to Know Why My Father Had Been Hiding More Than One Photograph
My Father Wanted a Perfect Birthday Photograph, but He Had Forgotten That One Person in the Room Always Noticed the Things Everyone Else Ignored
Part 9 of 20
