Ryan looked hurt.
“I ask you things all the time.”
“You ask if school was good.”
Silence.
“You ask if I like Aunt Lina’s apartment.”
Another pause.
“You ask whether dinner tastes good.”
Ryan lowered his eyes.
Amelia’s voice became quieter.
“You never ask if I’m angry.”
I stopped several feet away.
For perhaps the first time, Ryan seemed to understand what our daughter was actually saying.
He took a breath.
“Are you angry with me?”
Amelia nodded.
Once.
Ryan stared at her for a long moment.
Then he slowly
