Sophia’s P.O.V

I picked Sara up and sat her on my lap, watching her pick at the hem of her skirt like she was trying to unravel the whole thing thread by thread.

“Sara,” I said softly, “what’s wrong? Talk to me.” She didn’t look up. Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, like each breath was something she had to force through.

“Hey,” I tried again, placing my hand over hers, “whatever it is that’s bothering you… you can tell me. You know mommy will ...