My daughter's drawing on the fridge

There's a crayon drawing on my refrigerator. A stick figure with brown hair holding hands with a smaller stick figure with yellow pigtails. Underneath, in wobbly kindergarten letters: "Me and Mommy at the park."

My daughter drew it three weeks after I got her back. After eighteen months of supervised visits in a room that smelled like industrial cleaner, with a social worker writing notes in the corner while I tried to read picture books like a normal mother. Eighteen months of being watched for signs that I was still the person the court file said I was.