It started small.
She stopped bringing her toys into the living room. Instead of spreading out crayons and building forts the way she always had, she retreated to her bedroom.
She started hiding her stuffed animals, and she grew quieter, more hesitant. Sometimes I caught her with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, though she insisted she was merely “tired.”
When I asked if Ava and Sophie were bothering her, she always shook her head.
“They’re nice,” she’d whisper too quickly. “They’re just older, Mommy. I’m fine.”
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