“What’s in there, Daddy?” she asked, pressing her hand against it.

I wished I knew. “Probably just old things, sweetie. Come on, it’s almost bedtime.”

But sleep didn’t come easily that night. I lay beside Amelia, watching shadows shift across the ceiling as questions chased each other through my mind.

Had I made a terrible mistake? Had I brought someone into our lives who might hurt my little girl? I thought about the promises I made to Sarah in her final days—to keep Sophie safe, to make sure she grew up feeling loved.

When Amelia slipped out of bed around midnight, I waited a few minutes before following her.

From the bottom of the stairs, I watched as she unlocked the attic door and went inside. I waited but didn’t hear her lock it behind her.

I crept up the stairs as quietly as I could. Acting on impulse, I pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

I froze at what I saw.

The attic had been transformed into something magical. Soft pastel walls, floating shelves filled with Sophie’s favorite books, and a cozy window seat piled with cushions.

An easel stood in one corner, stocked with art supplies, and fairy lights shimmered across the ceiling. A small tea table sat nearby, set with delicate china cups and a stuffed bear in a bow tie.

Amelia, who had been adjusting a teapot, turned quickly when she saw me.

“I… I wanted to finish before showing you. I wanted it to be a surprise,” Amelia stammered. “For Sophie.”

The room was beautiful, but the knot in my stomach remained. “It’s beautiful, Amelia, but… Sophie says you’ve been very strict with her. No ice cream, making her clean alone. Why?”

“Very strict?” Amelia’s shoulders dropped. “But I thought I was helping her become more independent. I know I’ll never replace Sarah, and I’m not trying to. I just… I wanted to do everything right. To be a good mother.” Her voice broke. “But I’ve been doing everything wrong, haven’t I?”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” I said gently. “You just have to be there.”

“I keep thinking about my mother,” Amelia admitted, sitting on the window seat. “Everything had to be perfect. When I started working on this room, I didn’t realize I was becoming like her—strict, controlling, focused on order…”

CONTINUE READING…>>