Chapter 22 - harrison’s protection began making nora feel smaller again
Dad struggled with the diagnosis more than I did.
Not because he doubted Nora.
The opposite.
He became overprotective.
Fire drill scheduled?
He offered to pick her up.
School trip?
Maybe skip it.
Sleepover?
Better at Grandpa’s.
One evening Nora exploded.
“I CAN DO STUFF.”
Dad froze.
She was ten.
Standing in his kitchen.
Angry enough to shake.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Nora—”
“You always say I’m brave and then don’t let me do anything.”
That landed.
Dad sat.
The man who had once burst through my front door like violence itself suddenly looked old.
“Tell me.”
Nora cried.
“When I’m scared, you act like scared means stop.”
Dad looked toward me.
I said nothing.
This belonged to them.
Nora continued.
“Dr. Meyers says I can be scared and still do stuff.”
Dad nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
She expected argument.
He gave none.
“I think when I see you scared, I still see that day.”
Nora’s anger softened.
“But I’m not seven.”
“No.”
“And Marissa isn’t there.”
“No.”
Dad swallowed.
“I need to catch up.”
That became another family phrase.
Catch up.
Trauma freezes people at ages they have already survived.
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Dad had to catch up to Nora.
So did I.
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