Oh, shit. My poor excuse for a joke had just triggered my step-daughter and right then, I didn’t blame her for hating me. I would have hated me too.

I just couldn’t seem to get it right with Ella and I was truly worried she and I would never see eye-to-eye.

Later that night, after a quiet dinner where conversation was stunted, I pucked up the courage to knock lightly on her door. When she opened it, I was prepared to be turned away. Imagine my surprise when she moved back, allowing me entry.

“Hi,” I uttered nervously. “Your dad took the boys to soccer practice and I’m feeling a little lonely in this enormous house. I thought I would make some hot chocolate if you wanted some.”

She thought about it a long second before she lifted her chin and nodded once, still unable to drop her suspicions of me. “Okay.”

Forget about weeping statues of Mary or Jesus shaped potato chips. This was a miracle.

She followed me down into the kitchen and watched closely as I struggled to make us cocoa without setting the kitchen on fire. When I finally set a mug down in front of her, she remained solemn-faced as I placed a handful of mini marshmallows into her mug and when she picked up a spoon, dunking her mallows, I began softly with, “Ella, about this morning…”

She cut me off. “That wasn’t a very funny joke.”

The way she said it, quietly and full of hurt, I had to agree. “You’re right. It wasn’t. I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t know.”

Ella played with her cocoa, lifting spoonfuls of it and dribbling it back into her mug. “She used to joke about it too. And then she did it.” For the first time since I met stone-cold Ella, she actually sounded like a little girl when she said, “I still don’t know why.”

I wanted to hug her then, but I wasn’t entirely sure it would be welcome. So, instead, I reached over and placed my hand lightly over her free one. She allowed only a few seconds of comfort before she remembered she despised me and when she pulled away, I wasn’t surprised.

Ella stood, leaving her mug of hot chocolate on the counter and said, “I’m tired.”

“Alright.” Sadness filled me whole. Not because she wanted to escape me, but because she was so uncomfortable in her own feelings that it caused her to flee. “Well, thanks for keeping me company.”

The old Ella shone through when she shrugged. “Didn’t have anything better to do.”

With every one step forward, somehow, we ended up tumbling three steps back.

That didn’t mean I’d stop trying.

* * *

“Ella, would you clean this mess up?” Tor asked distractedly.

“Why me?” she complained.