Chapter 4 - Dawn and Cereal
The morning sun was just beginning to spill over the horizon, painting the winter sky in soft shades of orange and pink, when I carried Emma into my small, two-bedroom apartment.
The apartment was warm, filled with the cozy scents of roasted coffee and vanilla candles. I carried Emma straight to the guest room—a room I had decorated months ago with soft pastel blankets and yellow curtains, hoping she would come stay with me for weekend visits that my parents had always found excuses to cancel.
I laid her down gently on the plush mattress. The moment her body touched the sheets, her eyes flew open, wide with sudden, instinctual panic. She scrambled backward against the headboard, her small hands clutching the duvet.
"Aunt Natalie?" she gasped, looking frantically around the unfamiliar room. "Are you going to close the door?"
My heart squeezed tight. "No, sweetie. Never. The door stays wide open."
She looked at the white wooden bedroom door, then at the open hallway beyond it. "Is there a chair?"
"There is no chair in this house, Emma," I said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. "There are no locks on these doors. You can walk out of this room whenever you want. You can go to the kitchen, you can go to the living room, or you can stay right here. You are completely free."
She stared at me for a long moment, processing the words as if they were written in a foreign language. Then, her little stomach let out a loud, hollow rumble.
She immediately flushed with shame, clapping her hands over her belly. "I’m sorry! I didn't mean to make noise!"
"Hey," I said, smiling warmly as I took her hands in mine. "Hunger isn't something to apologize for. You know what time it is?"
"Breakfast time?" she whispered.
"It is officially the biggest breakfast in the world time," I declared, standing up and holding out my hand. "Come on."
She slipped her tiny hand into mine and walked barefoot beside me into the sunlit kitchen.
I pulled out a stool at the island and lifted her up onto it. I opened the pantry, pulled out three different boxes of cereal—Honey Nut Cheerios, Frosted Flakes, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch—and lined them up across the quartz counter. Then I pulled out a giant ceramic bowl, a container of fresh strawberries, and a cold carton of whole milk.
"You pick," I said, placing a spoon next to her hand. "You can have one, or you can mix all three together."
Emma stared at the boxes, her large brown eyes wide with disbelief. "I can pick?"
"You can pick anything you want, Emma. It’s your kitchen too."
She reached out a trembling finger and touched the box of Frosted Flakes. "This one?"
"Excellent choice."
I poured a massive portion into the bowl, sliced fresh strawberries over the top, and poured the cold milk until the bowl was full.
Emma didn't eat like a normal child. She didn't chatter or play with the spoon. The moment the bowl was in front of her, she began eating with a desperate, heartbreaking speed, shoveling the cereal into her mouth as if she expected someone to snatch the bowl away from her at any second.
"Slow down, sweetie," I murmured softly, sitting on the stool next to her and gently touching her back. "Nobody is going to take it from you. There is a whole pantry full of food right behind you. If you finish this bowl and you’re still hungry, we’ll make another one."
She stopped, a spoonful of milk halfway to her lips, and looked at me. A single tear rolled down her hollow cheek, leaving a clean trail through the dust on her skin.
"Grandma said I was a waste of money," Emma sobbed quietly, setting the spoon down. "She said Mommy died because I was bad, and now they had to pay for me."
I felt an anger so white-hot it nearly blinded me, but I kept my voice as soft and sweet as honey. I leaned in, took Emma’s tear-stained face between my hands, and looked straight into her eyes.
"Your mother loved you more than life itself, Emma," I said, every word firm and absolute. "You were her greatest joy. And your grandma and grandpa lied to you because they are bad people who did terrible things. You are not a waste of money. You are precious, you are loved, and you are staying with me forever."
Emma wiped her nose with the sleeve of her oversized sweater, looked back down at her bowl, and took another slow bite.
May you like
When she was finished, she climbed off the stool, walked over to the couch in the living room, and curled up under a fluffy pink throw blanket. I turned on the television to a morning cartoon channel, keeping the volume low.
As the morning light washed over the room, filling every corner with gold, Emma’s eyes grew heavy. Within ten minutes, she was fast asleep, her small body finally relaxed, safe in the knowledge that no wooden chair was waiting on the other side of the door.
