“Yes, every single one of them,” I answered with a smile.
Her expression changed.
“So that means I don’t have to stand on the stool and wash them anymore?” she whispered softly.
I immediately crouched so we were eye to eye.
“You are only five years old, so your only job in this world is to play, learn, and help out with completely safe things,” I assured her gently.
She threw both arms around my neck.
I had to fight back tears.
Jessica’s recovery was slower.
Her physical injuries healed before the emotional ones did.
For weeks, she asked permission for things no adult should need permission to do in her own home.
“Is it okay if I order takeaway food for dinner tonight?” she would ask cautiously.
“Does it bother you if I sit down and take a short break right now?” she would check nervously.
Every question reminded me how deeply fear had become part of her routine.
