Frex sat next to Elphaba on the sofa, supporting Nessarose's little head as her sister cuddled her.
"Tell me again why Nessie's legs won't work," Elphaba said, concern in her little voice, as she watched the twisted legs twitch trying to kick. Nessarose's face winced slightly at the effort, but she did not cry out.
"I thought milkflowers would help her birth, but I was too hasty and wouldn't listen to the midwife," Frex explained the well-rehearsed lie gently. "Nessa came too early instead."
"But…that was the milkflowers' fault," Elphaba looked up at her father. "Not yours." I wish she was right.
They sat in silence on the sofa for a while, Nessarose making small coos occasionally. Then, Elphaba spoke.
"We make a funny family," she observed casually. "Mother's dead, Nessie won't walk, and I'm a green string bean." Frex felt his heart twinge at the brutal, undeniable honesty of his eldest.
"But you're my string bean," he reassured her, and even himself. This is my daughter. "And she's my little Nessa. And you're both perfect in your own ways."