#bartowskiis

“Molls, kiddo,“ Chuck said, hands wringing together as he sat across from his adopted daughter. This was really a conversation that ought to be saved until Sarah got home from work, but there were tears on her face now and he could hardly hold back on an explanation until hours later. He glanced over at his and Sarah’s wedding photo - putting the date in the corner had felt sweet at the time (it had been, after all, the anniversary of the day Sarah walked into the Buy More with a baby and a broken phone) but it had only been a matter of time before Molly did the math. “Your mom and I were going to tell you, when you were a little older.”

“So I brought you this,“ Sabrina said, shaking the worn baby doll she’d found for five bucks at a thrift store like it was a toy for a dog not her young niece. “Kids your age like dolls, right? If not, good luck returning it - didn’t keep the receipt.”

“Is there something you want to tell me, son?“

Chuck didn't hear the bedroom door creak open, but after raising three kids he knew that there'd been a bad dream when he felt a gentle weight move across the bed and wiggle itself between him and Sarah. Either that or the dog had uncharacteristically left Stevie's room in the middle of the night. Chuck opened his eyes blearily. Not the dog. "Hi, Em," he whispered, putting an arm around his daughter, "Do you want to talk about it, kiddo?"