Chapter 15 - THE RABBIT CAME DOWN THE STAIRS DIFFERENTLY THE NEXT TIMETwo years later, Sophie was nine.
The mansion looked different.
Not dramatically.
Less staged.
More hers.
Art room upstairs.
Green paint still terrible.
Mara's photograph on the hallway table.
No wedding portraits.
No emerald dresses.
No locked doors.
I dated occasionally.
Very quietly.
No one met Sophie for almost a year.
When I finally told her I was seeing someone named Rachel, Sophie narrowed her eyes.
“Does she like kids?”
“Yes.”
“Does she lock them up?”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
“No.”
“Good.”
Dark humor.
Another form of healing.
Rachel had met Sophie twice by the time this happened.
Nothing serious yet.
That mattered.
One Saturday, I was downstairs answering emails when something bounced down the marble staircase.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I froze.
Mr. Rabbit landed at my feet.
For half a second, my body returned to that night.
Then Sophie appeared above.
Laughing.
“Catch!”
I picked up the rabbit.
“You threw him.”
“He wanted to fly.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“His attorney will contact you.”
She rolled her eyes.
I climbed the stairs.
No fear.
No Celeste.
No child reaching toward me while someone held her back.
Just Sophie.
At the landing she took Mr. Rabbit and tucked him under her arm.
Then she said:
“Daddy?”
“What?”
“I think I want to answer Celeste.”
I stopped.
Two years.
The letter remained in her desk.
“What do you want to say?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Okay.”
“Will you help me?”
“If you want.”
She nodded.
Then:
“But I don't want to see her.”
“You don't have to.”
“Maybe someday.”
“Maybe.”
That was the only unresolved part I was willing to carry.
Whether Sophie would ever choose to speak to Celeste again.
Not because Celeste deserved a second chance.
Because Sophie deserved ownership of the question.
We walked downstairs together.
Mr. Rabbit under her arm.
No brass key hanging from anyone's neck.
No suitcases waiting behind a door.
No adult deciding where Sophie belonged before asking her.
For years, I thought protecting my daughter meant making the right decisions for her.
Sometimes it does.
But the lesson Celeste forced me to learn was harder.
Protection also means refusing to let other people spend your child's future before she is old enough to speak for herself.
May you like
And if Sophie ever opened that door again, it would be because she chose to.
Not because someone locked her on the other side.
