Chapter 8
Therapy was strange.
My therapist, Dr. Hale, had a room full of toys, pillows, and feelings charts.
I hated the feelings charts.
Happy faces.
Sad faces.
Angry faces.
Scared faces.
None of them looked like me.
Dr. Hale said I did not have to pick one.
So I drew my own.
A small face with a zipper for a mouth.
She looked at it for a long time.
Then she said, “That makes sense.”
She never said I was dramatic.
She never said I was ungrateful.
She never told me to hurry.
I liked her.
Lily saw a different therapist in the same building.
After sessions, we got smoothies with Dad.
Always the same size.
Different flavors if we wanted.
The first time the cups came, I measured them with my eyes.
Dad noticed.
He switched them back and forth.
“Same size, buddy.”
Lily pushed hers toward me.
“You can have some of mine too.”
I shook my head.
“You keep yours.”
She smiled.
“I know. I just wanted you to know.”
The house changed slowly.
Dad emptied the pantry onto the kitchen table one Saturday.
Every snack.
Every box.
Every can.
He gave us each a marker.
“What are we doing?” Lily asked.
“Making family rules.”
On a big sheet of paper, he wrote:
Food is for everyone.
No one gets sent away for needing care.
No secrets that hurt children.
Real family means love and safety.
He taped it to the refrigerator.
I stared at the second rule for a long time.
No one gets sent away.
Dad saw.
He put one hand on my shoulder.
“It stays there as long as you need.”
It stayed there for three years.
Amanda attended supervised visits with Lily at a family center.
At first Lily came home quiet.
Then angry.
Then sad.
One day she came home with a drawing Amanda had made.
It showed Amanda and Lily holding hands.
No Dad.
No me.
Lily tore it in half at the kitchen table.
Then she burst into tears.
“I want to love her, but she keeps making me choose.”
Dad held her while she cried.
I sat beside them.
I didn’t know what to do.
So I did what Lily had done for me.
I brought her a snack.
Two cookies.
One for her.
One for me.
She laughed while crying.
“Same?”
“Same.”
The custody evaluator came to our house twice.
She watched us eat dinner.
Dad made spaghetti.
He served Lily first, then me, then himself.
I froze.
Dad noticed and immediately switched the order the next time.
Me, Lily, Dad.
Then Lily said, “Can we just put the bowl in the middle?”
We did.
That became our way.
The bowl in the middle.
Everyone serves themselves.
Everyone gets enough.
During the final evaluation meeting, the evaluator asked me what I wanted.
I looked at Dad.
He nodded.
I said, “I want Lily to see her mom if it doesn’t make Lily feel bad. I don’t want to see Amanda. I want Dad to believe me if I say something.”
The evaluator wrote it down.
“What else?”
I thought for a long moment.
“I want chicken without feeling guilty.”
Dad cried.
The evaluator blinked fast.
Lily reached under the table and squeezed my hand.
“You can have mine too,” she whispered.
May you like
I smiled.
“No. I’ll have my own.”
