My jaw tightened.
Little problems.
That was what Eleanor called my daughter’s pain.
“Maya…”
I reached for her hand.
This time, she didn’t pull away.
Her tiny fingers wrapped around mine.
“Daddy, please don’t be mad at her.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because when you get mad, everything gets worse.”
The words were barely audible.
But they destroyed me.
“What do you mean everything gets worse?”
Maya looked toward the dining room.
“She told me if I made you angry, you would think I was causing problems. She said you were already stressed because of work. She said you didn’t need a difficult daughter.”
My breathing became heavier.
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind.
Every late night at the office.
Every business trip.
Every time Maya asked me if I could come home earlier.
Every time Eleanor smiled and told me:
“Don’t worry, Richard. I’m taking care of her.”
I believed her.
I trusted her with the most precious thing in my life.
And while I was building an empire...
My daughter was eating dinner on a pantry floor.
A sudden sound came from behind us.
The swinging kitchen door slowly opened.