“Especially when you mess up,” I said.

“You do not have to be perfect for me to love you and believe you.

Those two things are not connected, and I am so sorry I ever let you think they were.”

That night, she ate two full helpings of dinner, and then, a little sheepishly, asked for a third.

And later, standing at the sink washing the dishes, I cried again — but these were different tears, and I knew the difference.

I was getting my daughter back.