“Cinderella.”
“Why?”
“She said Cinderella was strong.”
Sophie looked thoughtful.
“Mommy was strong.”
“She was.”
“Does that mean Mommy was a princess?”
Gideon nodded.
“Absolutely.”
Sophie smiled for the first time that day.
Then she asked:
“If Mommy was a princess, where's her castle?”
Gideon looked around the small house.
“This isn't a castle?”
Sophie laughed.
“No.”
“Seems like a castle to me.”
“Grandpa.”
“All right.”
She climbed into bed.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Gideon closed the door.
Then he stood in the hallway.
His eyes fell on the old photograph of Elena.
He stared at it.
“You hear that?” he whispered.
The house was silent.
“She thinks you're a princess.”
He smiled sadly.
Then an idea came to him.
Not a perfect idea.
Not something that would solve everything.
But something.
A few days later, he asked Sophie:
“If you could have any princess doll in the world, which one would you choose?”
She thought carefully.
“Cinderella.”
“Only Cinderella?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe what?”
“All of them.”
Gideon laughed.
“All of them?”
Sophie nodded.
“I want a princess castle.”
“What kind?”
“The biggest one.”
“How big?”
“Bigger than our house.”
Gideon raised an eyebrow.
“That might be difficult.”
She smiled.
“You're a biker.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You can do anything.”
Gideon looked at her.
That sentence stayed with him.
Children believed things adults had forgotten how to believe.
So Gideon made another promise.
“All right.”
He smiled.
“We'll get you every princess.”
Sophie laughed.
“You can't.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are too many.”
Gideon leaned closer.
“Never underestimate your grandfather.”
That was how Gideon ended up standing in the toy store.
Rachel had never seen anyone buy toys quite like this.
One by one, the dolls disappeared into the cart.
Cinderella.
Belle.
Ariel.
Snow White.
Jasmine.
Aurora.
Rapunzel.
Merida.
Tiana.
Elsa.
Anna.