Chapter 6 - Livia’s Question
I did not hear the rest that day.
My phone rang.
Maria.
Livia had developed a headache at school.
Probably unrelated.
Maybe stress.
Maybe dehydration.
I left.
Part of me resented the interruption.
That made me ashamed.
My daughter had been slapped forty-eight hours earlier, and I had already begun treating my mother’s past as the center of the crisis.
That was exactly what Helena had warned against.
At school, Livia sat in the nurse’s office with a paper cup of water.
She looked embarrassed.
“I’m okay.”
“I know.”
“Can stay?”
“Do you want to?”
She shrugged.
“I have art.”
The nurse had already checked.
No concerning neurological symptoms.
Headache resolved after water and snack.
I let her stay.
Before I left, Livia caught my sleeve.
“Daddy.”
“What?”
“Did Grandma do bad thing?”
Children hear more than adults think.
“Why are you asking?”
“Camille said secret.”
“She did.”
“Secrets are bad.”
“Some are.”
“Grandma secret?”
I sat beside her.
“It’s an adult story from a long time ago.”
“Bad?”
“I’m still learning what happened.”
She looked uneasy.
I changed approach.
“Grandma loves you.”
“That not answer.”
Seven.
I almost smiled.
“No, it isn’t.”
Then:
“I don’t think Grandma is dangerous. I don’t think you need to be afraid of her.”
That was what Livia actually needed.
“Camille dangerous?”
“For now, you won’t be around Camille.”
“Because slap?”
“Yes.”
Livia touched her cheek.
The bruise was fading.
“She said people barely tolerate me.”
That sentence hurt more than the physical mark.
“What do you think tolerate means?”
“Like when you let someone stay but don’t want them.”
Close enough.
“Do you think people at your birthday didn’t want you there?”
“It my birthday.”
“Exactly.”
She almost smiled.
I continued.
“Camille said something cruel because she wanted to make you feel small.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
That was still true.
Then Livia asked:
“Does she hate me?”
“No seven-year-old should have to solve that question.”
“That means yes?”
I sighed.
“No. It means adults can behave cruelly for reasons that are about themselves, not the child in front of them.”
She considered.
“Long answer.”
“Very.”
The nurse laughed quietly.
Livia went back to class.
I walked to my car understanding that Camille’s threat might reshape my relationship with my mother.
But Camille’s insult had already entered my daughter.
May you like
That required its own repair.
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