Ava's POV

I stayed on the floor by the dining room doorway, the cold carrot still in my fist, and watched the rain find my chair.

It came down harder every minute. Drops slid down the glass doors in crooked lines, and past them, out on the dark grass, the lavender frame grew shiny and black. The seat cushion was already soaking it up. I could see it sagging.

Chloe had wandered over to the couch with her ice cream bowl. She didn't even look outside. She was done with being a princess.

"Daddy," I said. "My chair is getting wet."

He was scrolling on his phone. "It's made to be used outside."

"But Mommy says it needs taking care of." My voice came out too fast. "She said the controls and the cushion can't stay in the rain. She said water gets inside and ruins stuff."

Daddy didn't get up. "Your mom makes a big deal out of everything."

Vanessa stacked the empty dishes and carried them to the sink. "The wheels tracked dirt all over my floors, Ava. It'll come back inside after it's been cleaned."

"It's not getting cleaned. It's getting rained on."

"Your mother isn't here, Ava," Vanessa said, and turned on the faucet like that settled it.

I looked back at the glass. When Mommy and I put the butterfly stickers on, she'd held the sheet steady while I peeled them off one by one. Then she'd spent forever fiddling with the armrest, moving it up a little, then down a little, until my elbow sat just right.

*There*, she'd said. *No sore arms for my girl.*

Now the blue butterfly closest to the handle was peeling at one corner, flapping in the wind.

It was right there, maybe thirty steps away. I could have touched the glass if I crawled to it.

But I couldn't go out in the rain and bring it back.

---

Getting back to my room took longer than getting to dinner. My elbows had gone wobbly, and twice I just lay with my cheek on the blanket, breathing.

When I finally dragged myself through my doorway, the lamp was on. My tablet sat on the nightstand next to Bramble, the brown bear Mommy mailed me for my birthday, the one with a tiny suitcase stitched to his paw.

The screen lit up.

*Mommy* flashed across it in white letters, with the little green camera button underneath.

"Mommy!"

I grabbed the bed frame and pulled. My arms shook so hard my teeth clicked. The nightstand was tall, and the tablet was way at the back, where Vanessa always put it. I stretched until my shoulder hurt. My fingertips brushed the edge of the case.

Almost.

The door swung open.

"Daddy!" I twisted around, so happy I nearly slid off the bed frame. "Mommy's calling! Daddy, please!"

He crossed the room in two steps. He looked at the screen, and his face did something weird, like it closed up.

Then he flipped the tablet over, screen down, on the nightstand.

The buzzing kept going against the wood. Then it stopped.

"She's busy with work," he said.

"But she called me." I stared at the back of the tablet. "She was right there. You could just push the button."

"It's late."

"It's not even bedtime yet."

"Go to sleep, Ava."

He picked up Bramble, dropped him on my pillow, and walked out. This time he shut the door.

I sat on the floor with my hand still up in the air.

For weeks, every time I asked to call Mommy, Daddy said she was busy. Mommy has meetings. Mommy's in a different time zone. Don't bother her. But every single time the tablet lit up, he was the one who took it away.

Maybe Mommy wasn't too busy for me.

Maybe Daddy just didn't want me to answer.

---

I woke up on the floor next to the bed. I'd never made it up onto the mattress.

My knees were the worst part. The pajama pants with the little moons on them had worn through at both knees, and the skin underneath was pink and crusty and stuck to the fabric when I moved. My palms throbbed like they had their own heartbeats.

And I really, really had to pee.

My call button lived in a pouch on the side of my wheelchair. Daddy had clipped it there so I could always reach it.

Through the window, I could see the chair in the garden, sitting in a puddle that had spread out around the wheels overnight.

I knocked on the wall. Soft at first, then harder.

Footsteps. The door opened, and Vanessa stood there in her robe, holding a coffee mug.

"Why are you still on the floor?" She frowned at my pajamas. "You're not even dressed. We're leaving for brunch at ten."

"I need to go to the bathroom," I said. "I don't have my chair, and my bathroom's in Chloe's room now."

"You managed to get to dinner yesterday."

"It hurt." I pulled my pant leg up so she could see. "Look. It's all scraped."

She glanced at my knee and then at the window. "Chloe wants to play with the chair again today. Once she's finished, we'll bring it in."

"It's sitting in water."

"Then it'll need to dry, won't it?"

I didn't mean to cry. It just came out, loud and ugly, all at once.

Daddy's voice came from the hall. "What is all that noise?"

"She's upset about the chair again," Vanessa said.

He leaned in the doorway, tying his tie. He looked at me, at my knees, at the wet spot spreading on the rug under me.

His jaw went tight.

"Then stop making everything so difficult," he said. "I'm not doing this every morning."

They left the door open. I heard Chloe asking if she could have pancakes.

---

I scooted back against the bed and hugged Bramble to my chest. His fur smelled like dust now. It used to smell like Mommy.

I pressed my face into his head and tried not to think about the wet rug.

Then I heard it.

"Ava?"

It came from the front of the house. A woman's voice, high and a little out of breath.

I froze. That was Mommy's voice. Exactly like on the tablet, when she'd say *Hi, bug!* and wave too close to the camera.

I was dreaming. I had to be.

"Ava! Where is she?"

Daddy said something, low and fast. I couldn't hear the words.

Then high heels came down the hallway, quick and hard, getting closer. The door banged open all the way.

A woman stood there in a dark wool coat, rain dripping off her hair, a small black suitcase rolling behind her. Her eyes went straight to me on the floor. Then to my knees. Then to the empty spot by the bed where my chair always lived.

The suitcase handle slipped out of her hand. It tipped over and hit the floorboards with a thud.

"Ava? Baby, why are you on the floor?"

"Mommy?"

She was across the room before I finished saying it. She dropped to her knees right in front of me, careful, like I might break, and wrapped her arms around me and Bramble both.

Her coat was cold and damp against my cheek. But underneath, she smelled like vanilla and rain and her soft yellow sweater.

Like Mommy.

I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. She just held on and rocked me.

"I've got you. I've got you, bug." She pulled back to look at my face, and her thumbs wiped under my eyes. "Where's your wheelchair?"

"Chloe wanted to be a princess."

"What?"

"Daddy says I have to share."

She went very still.

Then she slid one arm under my legs and the other behind my back, and lifted me up off the floor, Bramble and all. She carried me to the window.

Out in the garden, my chair sat in the brown puddle. The cushion was swollen and dark. Half the butterflies had peeled loose, and the blue one was gone completely.

Mommy stared at it for a long time. I felt her fingers, which had been squeezing my side, slowly loosen.

Then she looked down at me.

"Sweetheart, did Daddy make you crawl?"

I nodded against her coat.

Mommy's voice went suddenly, terribly quiet.

"Then Daddy has a lot to answer for."

Ava's POV

Mommy didn't try to make me stand up.

She sat right down on the floor by the window with me in her lap, rain still dripping off her hair, and pulled her big wool coat open so she could wrap it around both of us. It was heavy and warm on the inside. Bramble got squished between us, and she let him.

Then she picked up my hand and turned it over.

Her thumb moved slowly across my palm, all red and puffy, and then down to my knees, where the moon pajamas had worn through.

"Did you fall, bug?"

"No." I pressed my cheek against her sweater. "Last night I was hungry. So I crawled to the dining room."

Her thumb stopped moving.

I looked up fast, because I knew what it meant when a grown-up's face went still like that. "I'm sorry I made a mess."

"What mess, baby?"

"I crawled on the carpet. The white one. It got pink stuff on it." The words tumbled out. "I didn't do it on purpose. I wasn't trying to make Daddy mad."

Mommy closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, they were wet, but her voice came out steady.

"You have nothing to apologize for. Listen to me. Messy floor, clean floor, it doesn't matter. You always get to eat. Always."

She kissed my forehead, then pulled her phone out of her coat pocket with one hand, still holding me with the other.

"Hi, this is Amelia Hart. I need Dr. Patel, please. It's about Ava." A pause. "Yes, I'll hold."

I listened while she told the doctor about my knees and my hands and how long I'd been on the floor. She asked how to lift me so my hips wouldn't hurt and whether the scrapes needed to be looked at today.

"Today," she repeated. "Okay. We'll be there."

---

Mommy carried me down the hallway the way the doctor said, one arm under my knees, the other tight around my back.

Daddy and Vanessa were in the living room drinking coffee. Chloe was on the rug watching cartoons. Daddy had his mug halfway to his mouth when he saw us, and he set it down on the saucer with a little clink.

"Amelia. You could've called first."

"I did call. Many times." Mommy didn't sit down. "Why doesn't Ava have her wheelchair?"

Daddy gave a little laugh, like she'd told a joke. "Relax. Chloe borrowed it for a while. We're getting it cleaned."

Mommy walked straight past him to the glass doors. She shifted me onto her hip and slid one open. Cold air rushed in, and so did the smell of wet grass.

Out on the lawn, my chair sat in the brown puddle. Water ran off the armrests in slow drops. The last pink butterfly on the side had come up at one corner, flapping a little in the wind.

"That's the cleaning?" Mommy said.

Daddy's smile got smaller. "It rained. Nobody planned that."

"You took away her mobility aid?"

"Chloe wanted to play with it." He picked his coffee back up. "It's not a crime to share."

"You made a five-year-old crawl to dinner."

Vanessa crossed her legs and sighed. "Honestly, Amelia, she's perfectly capable of crawling. She does it whenever she wants attention. You baby her, and so did Grant, and now she can't do anything for herself."

Mommy turned around slowly.

"Then you've just admitted you knew she couldn't walk to the table."

Vanessa opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Mommy was already dialing again. "It's Amelia. I need a pediatric backup chair delivered to my daughter's location within the hour. Seat width twelve, lavender if you have it, and send a tech to fit her. I also want her current chair picked up and inspected for water damage. Motor, cushion, frame. Everything."

She hung up and looked at Daddy.

"That wasn't a toy you could hand out to whoever asked. That's the thing she uses every single day to get to her food, her bathroom, and her bed. You knew that better than anyone."

---

When Mommy said we were going to the doctor, Daddy stood up and walked to the front hall. He stopped right in the doorway, next to Mommy's tipped-over suitcase, and folded his arms.

"She's not going anywhere. I'm the parent who's actually here."

"Then why is our daughter injured and without her wheelchair?"

"Kids get scrapes."

I felt Mommy's fingers squeeze her phone so hard her knuckles went white. But when she talked, she sounded calmer than before, which was scarier.

"We share legal custody, Grant. I have every right to make sure she's healthy and safe. Move."

"You don't get to fly in once a year and lecture me." His face went red. "You left. You're off in another country doing your little job. You design chairs for a living. That doesn't make you an expert on parenting."

He pulled his phone out and held it up so she could see the screen. A gold invitation with fancy letters.

"Bright Steps Charity Gala. Next Saturday. I'm the keynote speaker. Half the city's going to be in that room listening to how I raise a disabled daughter on my own. That's what people think of me."

On the hall table beside him was a stack of shiny booklets. On the cover was me, sitting in my lavender chair in a yellow dress, with Daddy kneeling next to me, both of us smiling.

I remembered that day. The man with the camera kept saying *bigger smile, sweetheart*, and Daddy bought me a cupcake after. That was the last time he pushed my chair to the park.

Mommy looked at the booklet for a long moment.

"And posing beside a wheelchair doesn't make you a good father."

---

The doorbell rang forty minutes later.

A man in a navy jacket rolled in a small lavender wheelchair and knelt down in front of it with a toolbox. He measured my legs and moved the footrest and raised the armrest a tiny bit, the same way Mommy had done with my old one. On the back of the seat was a silver star logo with the word *Northstar* underneath.

Mommy set me into it gently. It fit just right. She tucked a soft gray blanket over my knees, and the man showed me where my call button was clipped.

I could move again. I rolled forward a little, just to check, and my eyes got hot.

Then I looked at Daddy, still in the doorway, and grabbed Mommy's sleeve.

"Is Daddy going to let me go?"

Mommy crouched down so we were eye level. "I'm doing this the right way, with doctors and lawyers. And I promise you, I'm not leaving you alone again. Not ever."

She stood and pushed my chair toward the door.

Daddy didn't move. He smiled, but it was a mean smile.

"You might want to think about what you're starting. Bright Steps is about to close a huge partnership with Northstar Mobility. Nobody's going to blow up a deal that size over your feelings."

Mommy stopped.

She took out her dark phone, pressed a name, and put it on speaker.

"Good morning, Chairwoman Hart," a man answered. "What can I do for you?"

"Pull up the Bright Steps partnership. I want to know who signed off on it and whether it includes any spokesperson contracts."

"One moment." Keys clicked. "Yes, ma'am. It includes a spokesperson agreement with a Grant Reed as the featured family."

Daddy's smile slid off his face.

"Northstar Mobility is sponsoring my foundation," he said. "You can't touch that."

"You still don't know who owns Northstar, do you?"

"What are you talking about?"

Mommy reached into her coat and held up a card on a lanyard. The same silver star. Her picture. Her name.

"I founded it, Grant. And I still control it."

"That's impossible."

"What's impossible is that you took my daughter's wheelchair and expected me to keep funding your perfect-father performance."

Daddy's phone buzzed in his hand.

I was close enough to read the screen.

*Northstar Mobility: Partnership Review Notice*

The gold invitation slipped off the top of the screen as he stared, and his phone dipped in his fingers. Daddy looked at Mommy, and for the first time ever, he didn't say anything at all.

Mommy reached down and took my hand.

"Come on, sweetheart. We're getting you somewhere safe."