Protecting the Only World That Matters to a Child
In the days that followed, my focus narrowed to one priority: protecting Lily’s sense of safety.
She was only five. She didn’t need the adult version of events. She didn’t need to carry the weight of what had happened between her parents.
We talked, but not about betrayal or broken promises. Instead, we talked about families.
How some kids live with one parent, some with two, some with grandparents. How some children are adopted. How some have step-parents, or foster parents, or people who love them like family even if the family tree looks more like a bush.
I told her something I wanted burned into her heart:
“Being a mom or dad,” I said, “isn’t about whose name is on a paper. It’s about who wakes up with you, who tucks you in, who holds you when you cry, who laughs at your silly songs, and who shows up. Over and over.”
She listened the way little ones often do—fingers busy, eyes on her drawing, but every word soaking in.
We kept her life as steady as possible. Same bedtime. Same silly songs in the car. Same Saturday morning pancakes. Whatever changes were happening between adults, they did not spill into her world.
She didn’t need those details.
She just needed her dad.
