I’d always believed that giving her a comfortable life was enough — providing a secure home, a good education, and a bright future. But now I realized I’d missed something crucial. At her age, mental health mattered most. She needed me — my presence, my love — and money couldn’t replace that.
When I asked about her mother, she tensed.
"Mom said she had work. She’ll be home late."
I frowned in confusion. Work? At this hour?
Still, I shrugged it off and urged Zera to sleep instead. But she refused to leave my side. In the end, I let her sleep in the master bedroom while I made a bed for myself on the floor.
After I told her a bedtime story and before she drifted off, I gently asked about the bruises on her arms and neck.
But upon my question, she stiffened and glanced fearfully toward the door before whispering, "I… I hurt myself by accident. Daddy, please don’t ask anymore."
Her fear made my heart ache. As such, I didn’t press her, but the unease sat heavy in my chest.
She should’ve been carefree, full of laughter. But instead, she looked like a scared little bird, constantly on edge.