The three-foot-plus girl gave a thumbs up, shaking her head and frowning. A few seconds later, the redhead's eyes snapped back and she snapped back, the two of them smiling. Hey there, she called, still holding her breath, but giving her an open hand. Her mother started to go over to the sofa, as if she needed water, and she sat on the edge of the wooden bench across the table. Honey, I love you, she murmured. The last second her voice went dry. I love you too, her mother said gently, still holding her breath that she couldn't seem to take the first few moments. But there was nothing with her there. The little blue pony was always there. There was a smile. It almost seemed like she liked her father. Her mother nodded back with a smile, but then again, she liked her father too. It wasn't my name, she told her mom, eyes glazed over. It was called Sweetie Belle, she said, smiling. I wanted to hear it. But she didn't know what else to say. So soon, she was back again on the sofa, this time playing around with things they hadn't talked to in months.