"How was it, baby?"
"Amazing," she said, smiling into my shoulder.
"How was it, baby?"
***
On the drive home, I asked about the rope course, the canoe race, and the campfire skits she'd been rehearsing in the living room for a month. Kathleen gave me the answers. They just didn't have any substance.
"It was fine, Mom. I'm tired."
I didn't push.
She'd been away for two weeks. Of course, she was tired.
"I'm tired."
***
The unraveling was quiet.
Monday, the sketchbook stayed on my daughter's nightstand. Tuesday, it was in the same spot, open to the same page. I realized I hadn't seen her open it once since she'd been home.
***
At dinner, Kathleen pushed her food around and answered my questions in single syllables. She'd stare at her phone with a face I didn't recognize. Not scrolling, just looking.
The unraveling was quiet.
My daughter had stopped talking about her day and seemed sad almost all the time.
