She looks good in my bedroom. The words are on the tip of my tongue. To praise her for standing right there, waiting for me like I asked her to. I take her hand instead. “Looked your fill?” “Mhm. Your room is a mirror of mine.” “It is. Let’s get you to bed, sweet girl.” The endearment slips out anyway, and her fingers flex around mine. “Say that again,” she whispers. I tug her close as we walk to her room. “Sweet girl? You did so well tonight. Getting angry. Crying. Showing me how you really feel.”
