I knew that.
I had not asked what the word looked like in practice.
My daughter ate some of the bread, then placed the rest beside her plate.
She watched me.
I said nothing about it.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Finally, she leaned back.
“Can I go now?”
“Would you like to?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“My room.”
“I’ll come with you.”
She looked uncertain.
“Are you going to ask?”
“What?”
“Why I did it.”
I took a breath.
“Crying?”
A nod.
“I know why you were sad. You can tell me more if you want.”
She considered that.
“Not telling off?”
“No.”
She slid down from her chair.
Ruth stood too.
At the doorway, Evie looked back at the remaining bread.
“Does that stay?”
“The bread?”
“Yes.”
“If you want it saved, we can save it.”
She nodded quickly.
Ruth put it on a small plate and covered it.
Only then did Evie leave the room.
Upstairs, she changed into pajamas.
I waited on the chair by the window.
Ruth helped with a button that always caught in Evie’s hair.
The child looked at me through the mirror.
“Did you really tell her?”
“To take your food away?”
She nodded.
“No.”
“But you said manners.”
“I did.”
Her face tightened.
I needed to explain without pretending my own words hadn’t mattered.
“I asked Daphne to help with ordinary things. Saying please. Waiting when someone is speaking. Using cutlery.”
Evie watched.
