Saturday, 12April
Id agreed to look after my neighbours daughter for the weekend, but it didnt take long to notice something was off about the child.
Right, well manage, I said with a light confidence, glancing at the new neighbour who stood on the doorstep, her coat buttoned up to her chin.
She fidgeted, pulling a stray lock of hair into a tight knot. A deep line of worry creased her brow, her thin lips tightened.
Beside her stood the girl. Small, pale, with enormous eyes that held an ancient weariness that seemed far too old for a childs face.
Thank you, Sarah, the woman said in an even, rehearsed tone. Ill be back Sunday evening. You wont need to watch Emily too closely; shes remarkably obedient.
The phrase sounded forced, more like the result of training than of upbringing.
A knot of anxiety tugged at mean intuition that rarely steered me wrong.
Well get along, I smiled, despite the tension inside. I hope your mother feels better soon.
Thank you, the woman replied dryly, handing me a worn bag. These are her things. Minimal, but essential.
The bag was surprisingly lightbarely anything for a twoday stay. The girl stood motionless, eyes fixed on the floor, flinching only when her mother bent toward her.
Behave yourself. Dont cause Sarah any trouble, the neighbour snapped. Her tone was more suited to a subordinate than a child.
Emily gave a silent nod. No I love you, no parting caress.
She turned and walked to the taxi without looking back.
Come on, Emily, I said gently, touching her shoulder as if I might crumble her. Ill introduce you to Morris, my ginger cat.
Emily slipped into the hallway so quietly it seemed she feared leaving a trace. Morris, who usually regarded the house as his fortress, appeared, sniffed her shoes and rubbed against her legs in a showy display.
Looks like youve won him over, I remarked, surprised. He usually conducts a full audition before letting anyone into his domain.
Emily sat and stroked the cat. When Morris began his soft purr, her face softened a little. In that moment she seemed just a child, not the little spectre shed appeared to be.
While I prepared dinner, I watched them from the kitchen doorway. Emily whispered something into Morriss red ears, and the cat listened with a regal indulgence. My heart tightened; another childs face, another pair of eyes, flashed through my memory.
Five years ago my niece vanished as if shed dissolved into thin air. She fell from her pram while her mother was on the phone. Endless searches, deadend leads. Two years later my sister died in a car crash. The wound never healed. Even now I dream of the tiny hands reaching out from darkness.
Would you like ginger tea with a slice of orange? I asked, trying to push the memories aside.
She nodded, eyes fixed on the kitchen counter.
Yes, please, she whispered barely above a breath.
Dinner unfolded like a strange choreographyI tried to keep conversation going while she ate cautiously, as if on a scouting mission.
What stories do you like? I asked once her plate was empty.
I dont know, she replied after a pause. Mum says books are a waste of time.
A painful knot tightened inside me. Could a mother really say that?
Through the open window drifted the scent of lavender from my garden and the distant laughter of children on the next street. Emily turned toward the sound, a flicker of longing crossing her face.
Fancy a walk? I offered.
She shook her head. Mum wont let me.
Again the word Mum. A woman who left her daughter with a nearstranger and walked away without a backward glance.
I looked at Emilys delicate profile, the slumped shoulderssomething in those lines felt eerily familiar, echoing a pain in my chest.
Before bed I set up a spare mattress in the guest room. The windows opened onto the garden, curtains fluttering in a gentle breeze.
Emily stood in the middle of the room holding a comb, the only personal item from the bag.
Need help? I asked, nodding toward her tangled hair.
She handed me the comb hesitantly. I began to brush, careful not to pull. Her hair was brittle, dry. She closed her eyes, a tiny tremor running through her body as my fingers touched her scalp.
Done, I whispered. Lie down, Ill sit with you until you fall asleep.
Really? You wont leave right away?
Of course not. Im staying.
Emily curled up under the blanket. Morris leapt onto the bed, settling beside her. She placed a tentative hand on his fur.
In the halfdarkness I stared at her face, a sense of déjà vu creeping over me. Had I seen those cheekbones before? Was this just a game of the mind, a lingering grief coloring the present?
Moonlight filtered through the curtains, spilling silver across the walls. From the window came the chirp of crickets.
A certainty grew: something was amiss, and I had to find out what.
Emily, breakfast! I called, laying out plates on the kitchen table.
She appeared in the doorway, still in the same clothes from yesterday. Hair neatly combed, face cleanshed managed all that herself without disturbing me. Unusually selfsufficient for a sevenyearold.
Want some orange juice? I asked, pointing to a glass.
Emily looked at it as if shed never seen one before.
May I? she whispered.
Certainly, I replied, masking my anxiety with a smile. And pancakes with jam, if you like.
She perched shyly on the edge of her chair, eyes glued to the plate, but didnt start eating.
Dont wait for me, go ahead, I encouraged gently.
Emily took the fork tentatively, broke off a bite, and put it in her mouth. A fleeting glint of pleasure crossed her face before it was replaced by her usual guardedness.
Enjoying it? I asked, sitting opposite her.
She nodded, eyes still down.
Very much, she whispered, as if confessing a secret.
After breakfast I fetched a sketchbook, paints, and markers.
Shall we draw? I suggested.
Emily stared at the coloured pencils like they were jewels.
I dont know how she murmured apologetically.
Its fine. Draw whatever you wish, maybe Morris.
She picked up a pencil hesitantly. I pretended to tidy up the kitchen, but kept an eye on her.
Her strokes grew more confident, yet the picture that emerged was odda dark house with barred windows and a tiny figure inside.
My chest tightened. I moved closer.
Nice house, I said softly. Is that yours?
Emily shivered, flipped the page quickly.
No, just imagined, her voice trembled. Can I draw Morris?
Please do.
While she sketched the cat, I quietly opened my laptop and typed missing children last five years followed by Emily. Hundreds of results appeared. How many lost children were there?
Emily finished the drawing and handed it to me. For the first time her face lit up with a genuine smile.
Very like him, I praised. You have talent.
She beamed.
The day passed gently. We ate, walked in the garden, read together. Emily slowly opened up, even laughed. Yet whenever I mentioned her mother or home, she retreated instantly.
In the evening I filled the bathtub with warm water, bubbles, a few rubber ducks.
Ready! I called. Come on, Ill help you wash.
Emily stepped into the bathroom, eyes wide at the water.
Bubbles she whispered. Like clouds.
Beautiful, arent they? I said, helping her wash her hair. As I lathered, I felt a tremor inside, as if something were about to break. On her shoulder lay an old scar, faint but distinct.
When it was time to rinse, I tilted her head backand froze. A birthmark, three thin dark stripes, ran just above the hairline.
Exactly the same mark my niece had had when she disappeared five years ago.
Is something wrong? Emily asked, noticing my stare.
No, just checking the water didnt get in your ears, I replied.
A whirlwind of thoughts spun in my head. Coincidence? Or something else?
Goodnight, I whispered, pulling the duvet over her.
Goodnight, she replied, then added, Thank you for being kind.
When she finally fell asleep, I rushed to my laptop. My hands shook as I typed my password. I opened old photo albums, found pictures of my sister and a tiny Emily. I enlarged a shot of a oneyearold with that very birthmarkthree thin lines, unmistakable.
I opened another photo of a twoyearold Emily, grinning at the camera. The same split in her iris, the same cheekbones.
There was no doubt left. The girl sleeping in the spare room was my niece, the one taken five years ago.
I clamped my hand over my mouth, stifling a scream. What now? Call the police? What if the neighbour returns early and takes Emily away again?
The next morning the house greeted us with a calm that felt newcomforting rather than eerie. For the first time in years I awoke not to haunting memories but to the warm breath of a child beside me. Emily slept peacefully, curled around Morris, his paws draped over her cheek. Her face was relaxed, as if shed finally allowed herself to trust the world.
I rose quietly, careful not to disturb them, and headed to the kitchen. The air was scented with cinnamon, butter, and warm milk. The day promised brightness. I threw open the window; fresh air filled the kitchen with hints of mint, roses, and something indefinablea feeling of home.
When Emily stirred, she watched me from the kitchen doorway, clutching her new favourite cat. I beckoned her with a smile.
Come on, love. We have a lot planned today. We need to pick out new clothes for you, see a doctor for a checkup, and if youd like, we can make a photo album togetherso we have good memories ahead.
Emily sat at the table, a shy smile forming.
Can I have a picture with you and Morris? she asked.
Of course. And with the blue modelling clay, and anything else you wish. Well create new memories.
We ate, laughed, drew. I even showed her how to bake simple biscuitsshe rolled the dough into balls, decorating each with a tiny raisin. Every action echoed something lost long ago, now found.
Later that afternoon I called the social services office, arranging for formal guardianship. All the paperwork would be handled with a solicitor. Emily looked at me and asked, Does that mean Ill stay here now?
Yes, dear, I said. Youre home now. And its permanent.
She leaned into me, silent, but the silence was calm, like the peace that follows a storm.
Weeks passed. Life settled. Emily attended therapy, drew countless cats and red swings, chose a new school, fed Morris each morning, baked pies with me, and even remembered the doctors name wed visited together.
One afternoon, walking home, she paused by the old swing set that still stood in our yard. She turned to me and said, I remember how you held me so I wouldnt fall.
I nodded, barely believing my ears. Emily reached out, took my fingers, and whispered, Thank you for finding me.
In that moment I realised that despite all the loss, the pain, and the fear, my niece had returned. My little light that never truly went out, only hidden by fog.
The garden was alive with daisies. Morris chased butterflies. We sat on the bench and drew. Two souls, both wounded, learning to trust love again.
Emily no longer feared the dark, for she knew this house would always have light and warm hands to protect her.
And I knew I would never let anyone take her away again. Sometimes miracles happen, and you need the courage to believe in them.
