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“Why?”

“That’s grown-up stuff between Pappa and me. It’s not because of anything you did.”

She looks at me for a long time.

“When’s he coming back?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“Why didn’t he say goodbye?”

“He thought it’d be easier if he didn’t wake you up.”

“But I wanted to say bye.”

Her eyes fill up.

“You made him go.”

“No.”

“But you told him to.”

So she heard. She was lying there facing the wall, listening.

“I asked him to stay. He’d already made up his mind.”

“Can we go get him?”

I hold out my arms.

“Mamma.”

“No, älskling. We’re staying here.”

“I want Pappa.”

“I know. Me too.”

Her face crumples.

She throws herself at me so hard I end up sitting on the floor. She hangs on to my neck, and I hang on to her.

I don’t know which one of us is holding the other.

“I love you,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m right here. None of this is your fault.”

We stay on the kitchen floor until she falls asleep against me. Outside, it starts to rain.

When she wakes up, I make her toast and wrap her blanket around her, and while she eats I get a piece of paper.

At the top I write Tova. She’s the one thing I’m sure of.

Bank balance. Rent. School. License. Food.

I check the account and write down exactly what’s in it. The number doesn’t comfort me, it gives me somewhere to start.

Under it, after a while, I write one more word.