---
"Papa, you pick."
"Why ?"
"So the color won’t be too loud."
I surveyed the available options.
Solid gray.
Navy blue.
Brown.
---
"Gray," I said.
She stepped closer to check the price tag.
"Is it expensive?"
"It’s still within the painless threshold."
"Does Papa have a lot of money?"
"No."
"Then why are you so calm?"
"Because panicking doesn’t increase your bank balance."
She fell silent for a mont.
---
Then said quietly,
"I can use the cheapest one."
I looked down at her.
Her expression was neutral, but entirely too neutral for a nine-year-old.
---
"Gray," I repeated. "This one."
I picked up one of the rolls.
Not too thick.
Standard.
Yuna gave a small nod.
As if the decision wasn’t about color, but about sothing much larger.
---
As we made our way to the register, she walked a little closer to again.
She didn’t hold my jacket this ti.
But the distance was practically the sa.
The cashier glanced at us.
---
Looked at the futon.
Looked at Yuna.
Then went back to the register screen.
Didn’t ask a single thing.
Good.
---
After paying, I carried the rolled-up futon under my arm.
Yuna stared at it as if she were looking at sothing official.
---
"We really bought it," she said quietly.
"Yeah."
"Does that an I’m really staying?"
I looked at the automatic sliding doors opening in front of us.
The night air greeted us once again.
---
"You’ve made it this far," I said.
She walked out first this ti.
Two steps ahead of .
Then stopped.
Turned.
Waited for to catch up.
And for the first ti that night,
she walked without holding onto my jacket.
---
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