When Emily was just four years old, her father walked out on the family for another woman. It was right after New Years Day when he stood at the door, muttered “sorry” to his little girl, and shut it behind him. Her mother took the blow with eerie calm, as though it were an unavoidable fate. In her family, no woman had ever known lasting love. But a few weeks later, one quiet evening, she swallowed every diazepam and paracetamol pill in the house and slipped into an endless sleep.
The next morning, Emily tried for ages to wake her mother, shaking her and calling out loudly. When nothing worked, she scavenged the fridge for a makeshift breakfast before trying again, exhausted. Eventually, she curled up beside her mother and dozed off.
January days pass quickly, and dusk had already fallen when the girl stirred awake. The cold roused her, so she tugged the blanket closer and pressed against her mothers sideonly to find her colder still. Then little Emily realised the unbearable chill was coming from her. Scalding tears streaked down her face.
Then, the front door opened. Emily bolted toward it like a stormthere stood Grace, her mothers younger sister.
“Emily, youre home! Wheres your mum? Ive been calling all daywhy wont she answer? Im so worried!”
Emily clung to Graces coat, pulling hard. Her tear-filled eyes widened as she pointed frantically toward the bedroom, screaming silentlyher mouth open in agony, but no sound escaping.
Grace had never had children, so her husband left her after five years. With no child of her own, she loved her niece fiercely, almost like a second mother. Naturally, when tragedy struck, Grace handled the paperwork to become Emilys guardian. She showered the girl with love, but no therapy in three years could restore her voice.
That winter, the cold arrived with St. Stephens Day, bringing proper, crunching snow. Emily and her friends spent the day sledging in Hyde Park, building a whole snowman family and making snow angels.
“Time to go home. Your clothes are frozen stiff, and your gloves are little ice blocks. Come onwell stop at the supermarket for milk and pasta,” Grace urged.
People bustled in and out as a ginger cat sat regally by the entrance, eyes half-lidded, as if needing nothingjust shifting its paws against the cold. Emily crouched beside it, then waved Grace off to shop alone.
“Fine, Ill be quickbut stay right here!”
The girl stroked the cat gently, and it arched into her touch, purring. Emily hugged its neck, pressing her face into its furuntil hot tears spilled. The cat licked them away, sneezed, then licked again.
“Ugh, stop that! Its a filthy stray,” Grace scolded, grabbing Emilys hand and tugging her toward the car. The girl fought, but Grace bundled her into the backseat.
The cat followed, mewling at Emily through the window.
“I cant leave himhes mine now,” she whispered, tears tracing the glass.
“Was that you? Say it again!” Graces voice trembled.
“We cant leave him! Hell die without me!” Emily shouted, clear as day.
Grace leapt out, scooped up the cat, and climbed in beside her niece. The ginger tom, startled, dug claws into her coatthen leapt onto Emilys lap and stilled.
“You wanted him? You only had to askId have got you a cat years ago,” Grace smiled, her heart full.
Sometimes, the smallest voice can heal the deepest wounds.
