The house is really quiet when I tiptoe down the hallway, my bare feet making soft whisper sounds on the wooden floor. Usually around this time, Daddy is reading in his study or maybe making me a snack, but today everything feels different. Sleepy-different, like the whole house is taking a nap.
'Maybe Daddy is tired,' I think, clutching my stuffed butterfly—the one Princess Seraphina gave me—a little tighter against my chest. 'He's been working really hard lately.'
I've noticed things, even though grown-ups think little kids don't pay attention. I've seen the way Daddy's shoulders get all tense when he thinks I'm not looking, and how sometimes he rubs his forehead like his head hurts. And last night, I woke up because I heard him talking in his study really late, his voice all serious and worried about things I don't understand.
'Important grown-up things that keep him awake.'
