Father left his family for another woman when his daughter was just four.
It happened just after New Yearshe stood at the door, muttered “sorry” to little Annabelle, and shut it behind him. Her mother took it with eerie calm, as if it were some inevitable fate. In her family, no woman had ever known a love that lasted. But a few weeks later, in the dead of night, she swallowed every diazepam and paracetamol pill in the house and slipped forever into sleep.
That morning, Annabelle tried for ages to wake her, shaking her and screaming. When nothing worked, she rummaged through the fridge for a makeshift breakfast before trying again, exhausted. Eventually, she curled up beside her mother and dozed off, clinging to her.
January days fade fast, and dusk was already settling when the girl stirred awake. The cold had roused hershe tugged the blanket tighter, pressing closer to her mothers body, only to find it colder still. Then she understood: the unbearable chill was coming from *her*. Scalding tears seared Annabelles cheeks.
At the front door, hinges creaked. Annabelle sprinted like a whirlwindit was Aunt Emily, her mothers younger sister.
“Annabelle, there you are! Wheres your mum? Ive been calling all daywhy wont she answer? Im worried sick!”
The girl seized Emilys coat, yanking her forward. Her tiny face twisted in silent agony, finger jabbing toward the bedroom. A scream tore through her, but no sound camejust tears and snot, a mouth stretched wide in voiceless despair.
Emily had never had children, so her husband left after five years. With none of her own, she poured all her love into Annabelle, almost like a second mother. So when tragedy struck, it was only natural that Emily fought to become her guardian. Three years of doctors and therapists passed, but nothing brought the girls voice back.
That winter, cold crept in with St. Swithins Day, bringing proper, crunching snow. Annabelle and her friends spent all day sledging in Hyde Park, built a whole snowman family, rolled in the powder, and made snow angels.
“Time to go home. Your clothes are frozen stiff, and your mittens might as well be ice cubes. Come onwell stop at the shop for milk and pasta,” Emily urged.
Shoppers bustled in and out, doors swinging, while a ginger cat sat perfectly still by the supermarket entrance. It looked wise, eyes half-lidded, as if it wanted for nothingonly twitching its paws now and then against the chill. Annabelle crouched beside it, stroking slowly, then waved Emily off.
“Fine, Ill be quickdont move an inch!”
The cat arched blissfully under her touch, purring. Then Annabelle hugged its neck, pressing her face to its furuntil hot tears spilled. The cat licked them away, sneezed, then licked again.
“Ugh! What are you doing? Its a filthy stray!” Emily grabbed her hand, dragging her toward the car. Annabelle fought, twisting free, but Emily bundled her into the backseat.
The cat followed, mewing at the window.
“I cant leave himhes mine now,” Annabelle whispered, tears streaking the glass.
“Was that? Say it again!” Emilys voice trembled.
“We *cant* leave him! Hell die without me!” the girl shrieked.
Emily lunged from the car, scooped up the cat, and slid into the backseat beside her. The ginger thing, startled, dug claws into her coatthen leaped onto Annabelles lap and went limp.
“You wanted him? You only had to ask. Id have got you one *years* ago,” Emily laughed, wiping her own wet cheeks.
