Chapter 3 - Morning Light and Broken Crayons
The morning sun crept across my hardwood floors, painting long, golden stripes through the blinds. I woke up on the edge of the living room sofa, my neck stiff from sleeping at an awkward angle.
I sat up immediately, my eyes scanning the room.
Lily was sitting on the rug, her back to me, silently arranging her crayons by color. She had lined up the blues, the greens, and the reds with meticulous precision, as if an incorrect arrangement might bring consequences.
“Morning, Lily,” I said softly, standing up and stretching.
She flinched slightly before turning around, clutching her stuffed rabbit. Her small face was cautious. “Good morning, Uncle Daniel.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Yes,” she whispered, looking down at her sneakers. “The couch is soft.”
“Well, how about some breakfast? Real breakfast. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit. Anything you want.”
Her eyes widened. She looked toward the kitchen, then back at me, hesitation warring with hunger. “Am I... am I allowed to have pancakes?”
My heart ached all over again. “Lily, in this apartment, you never have to ask permission to eat. You are allowed to have as much as you want, whenever you want. Always.”
A tiny, fragile smile touched the corners of her mouth—a smile that looked like it had been forgotten for months. “Okay. Can I help mix the batter?”
“You’re the head chef,” I said, offering her my hand. She took it, her tiny fingers surprisingly cold, and walked with me to the kitchen.
As we cooked, I watched her closely. Every movement she made was careful, measured, almost rehearsed. When a drop of pancake batter fell onto the counter, she immediately froze, looking up at me with panicked eyes, waiting for a reprimand.
“Hey,” I said gently, crouching down to her eye level. “It’s just batter. It wipes right off. See?” I took a paper towel and wiped it away, smiling. “Nobody is going to yell at you here. Mistakes are okay.”
She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for hours.
We sat together at the table and ate a mountain of pancakes. She ate slowly at first, as if testing whether the food might suddenly vanish, but by her second pancake, the raw hunger took over, and she ate with the enthusiasm of a normal five-year-old child.
After breakfast, I packed her small backpack with fresh clothes, making sure to hide the photos and notes I had prepared for Claire inside a sealed envelope tucked deep into my laptop bag.
“We’re going to go on a little field trip today,” I told her as she laced up her shoes. “We’re going to go see some friends of mine who have a really cool office with lots of books and toys.”
“Is Mommy coming back today?” she asked, her voice dropping to a nervous whisper.
May you like
“Not today, sweetheart. Tomorrow. But I promise you, you are safe with me. Nobody is taking you anywhere you don’t want to go.”
She seemed to accept that. She grabbed her rabbit, hugged it tight, and took my hand.
