How honest should one be with a 7-year-old?
"I used to blame myself for my family losing our farm in Ohio."
Daniel frowned.
"I thought if I had been smarter, or if I'd worked harder, maybe I could have helped save it."
"But you were just a girl."
"I was."
Eleanor smiled sadly.
"But feelings don't always make sense."
Daniel nodded.
"I used to think if I had been better, if I hadn't fought with Samuel or tracked mud inside, Mama wouldn't have died."
Eleanor's heart clenched.
"Oh, Daniel."
She leaned toward him.
"Your mother's death had nothing to do with anything you did or didn't do."
"I know that now."
He stared through the dark window.
"Mostly."
A pause.
"But sometimes the bad thoughts come back anyway."
"That's normal."
Eleanor spoke softly.
"Grief is like weather. Sometimes the sky is clear. Sometimes storms blow through."
Daniel looked at her.
"The important thing is remembering that storms pass."
"Is that why you married Papa? Because of our storm?"
His perception startled her.
"Partly," Eleanor admitted. "We all needed shelter from different kinds of storms."
Daniel thought about that.
Then asked:
"Do you think you'll ever love us?"
Eleanor blinked.
"Really love us. Not just take care of us."
The question pierced every layer of composure Eleanor had built.
"Oh, Daniel."
Her answer came before thought.
"I already do."
The truth of it surprised her.
Somewhere between buttons and bedtime stories and little confidences, Eleanor had begun to love them.
Not because they were Margaret's children.
Not because she had promised to mother them.
Because they were Daniel and Samuel.
Two brave little boys trying to understand a world that had taken too much from them too early.
Daniel's eyes brightened.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Even though we're not really your children?"
"Love doesn't work that way."
Eleanor smiled.
"It isn't about sharing blood. It isn't even about sharing a name."
She touched his hand.
"It's caring about someone's happiness and wanting to be part of their story."
Daniel absorbed this with the seriousness he brought to everything important.
Finally he nodded.
"I'm glad you're here, Eleanor."
He hesitated.
"Even if Papa doesn't love you like he loved Mama, I'm glad."
It was exactly what Eleanor needed to hear.
Not the love she could not demand.
The love she could build.
The love she was already earning.
One small moment at a time.
"I'm glad I'm here too."
Eleanor stood.
"Now let's get you back to bed before your father finds us conspiring."
As she tucked Daniel in again, something settled inside her.
She might never possess Thomas's heart.
That belonged to a ghost she couldn't compete with.