His hand hovered over her head and stopped.
I saw his fingers curl back.
He didn’t touch her hair.
He touched the edge of the blanket, the rabbit’s ear, her tiny cold knuckle.
His shoulders started to shake before any sound came out.
“Who did this,” he said, not to me, to the air, to himself. “Who did this to my kid.”
I knelt next to him. The carpet was thin. I could feel the floor through it.
“Lauren took the bracelet. I watched her put it in her bag. Your mother blamed Emma.”
He turned his head to look at me.
His eyes were red already, wet.
“My mother cut her hair?”
“She said it was a lesson about honesty.”
He made a sound then, low in his throat, and pressed his forehead to the edge of the mattress.
He stayed like that, breathing hard through his nose, one hand fisted in the blanket, the other flat on the bed beside Emma’s feet.
Emma stirred, made a small noise, and didn’t wake.
Daniel lifted his head.
“Show me,” he said.
I played it on my phone with the brightness down.
He watched the whole three minutes without blinking.
When Lauren’s hand disappeared into her bag, his jaw flexed so hard I saw the muscle jump.
He watched it a second time.
Then he stood, walked to the window, and placed both palms flat on the glass.
Outside, the lake was black, the wind beating against the hotel.
“I’ve been sending Lauren money for a year,” he said, his voice flat, strange. “She said she was behind on rent. My mother asked me not to tell you because Lauren was embarrassed. Last month I gave her two thousand.”
He turned around.
“She’s been stealing from us while I’ve been paying her bills.”
I nodded.
“I need you to decide with me what happens next,” I said. “I don’t want to do this alone and I don’t want to do it angry.”
He looked at his daughter again, at the jagged line where her curls used to fall to her shoulders.
“I’m angry,” he said. “I’m so angry I can’t see straight. But if we go in there yelling, my mother will cry and Lauren will lie and Emma will hear it.”
