At bedtime, Ella asked to keep the box beside her.
Miriam sat on one side of the bed.
I sat on the other.
Nadine remained near the door.
The room held more adults than usual.
For once, none of us asked the child to make the arrangement easier.
“Are you cross?” Ella asked.
“With you?” I said.
She nodded.
“No.”
“With her?”
“Yes.”
Ella’s hands moved toward the lid.
“Because I asked?”
“Because of what she did.”
“If I didn’t ask, would you still be happy?”
I took a breath.
“I might not have known something I needed to know.”
Her eyes widened.
“But finding out was my responsibility,” I added. “You did not spoil my birthday by telling me.”
Miriam rested a hand on the blanket.
“You were right to ask for help.”
Ella looked at her.
“I was asking for a hug.”
“I know.”
The child thought about that.
Then she turned back to me.
“Can you stay until I’m asleep?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“The whole time?”
“The whole time.”
I stayed.
After Miriam left, I remained beside the bed.
My phone was downstairs.
Nobody had to pay to keep it there.
The next morning, I counted the money with another adult present.
Not with Ella supervising.
She had already done enough arithmetic around her own worth.
We compared the notes Seraphina kept with the dates she remembered.
There were gaps.
Not every payment had been recorded.
I did not ask my daughter to reconstruct six weeks in order to qualify for repayment.
The amount we could establish would be returned.
Anything uncertain would be handled by the adults.
Miriam agreed.
We also agreed not to turn the restitution into a gift.
I would not arrive with a larger box, a stack of new notes, and an expectation that abundance could make the original act disappear.
