She recalled the quiet pride in his eyes when she learned to ride her bike without wobbling, or how he once carved her initials into the handle of a jump rope so she wouldn’t mix it up with her sister’s. They were not grand displays, but to Miriam, they mattered. In those years, she believed she had a place in his regard, even if his affection was quieter than her mother’s.
But as she grew older, the balance shifted. At first it was subtle; a longer pause before he answered her questions, a distracted nod when she brought him something she had drawn, the way his voice sharpened when she lingered too long in his study. It was easy enough to dismiss as moods, the ordinary irritations of an adult with too much on his mind.