What goes on in the head of a fourteen months old whose doting daddy is no longer there at night to blow raspberries on her tummy, to make her feel high-up and secure in his arms; whose mummy keeps making a crying face, whose brother is clinging to her for safety?
How does she make sense of the fact that the family she was born into has been blown up into tiny shards? She grumbles when her gums are sore, empties cupboards, smiles, plays, does whatever tiny little girls do.
She says “papa” 350 times a day.
On the other end of town, “papa” works in heart surgery, literally helping mend broken hearts.