Chapter 15
The morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, painting the room gold, but it did nothing to warm the heaviness in the air. I’d woken early, carefully preparing Gwen’s favorite porridge with honey, hoping it would coax a smile from her. Yet as I set the bowl in front of her, she only stared, silent and unmoving.
I could tell something was wrong the moment Gwen refused her breakfast. The porridge sat untouched, the steam curling into the air between us. Her little hands folded across her chest, her lips pursed tight.
“Gwen, sweetheart, just a few bites,” I pleaded softly, pushing the spoon closer to her.
“No.” Her voice was sharp, almost foreign.
I sighed. This wasn’t the first time. For days now, she had been eating less and less, her small body growing thinner, weaker. I reached to tuck her hair behind her ear, but she swatted my hand away.
“I don’t want it,” she muttered, eyes glistening. “I want Daddy.”
The words sliced me clean in half. My throat tightened, and for a second I couldn’t breathe. She looked at me with such anger–anger a child her age shouldn’t even know.
“Daddy’s not here, Gwen. Please, you have to eat so you can feel better.”
She slammed her little fist onto the table, tears spilling down her cheeks. “It’s your fault! You made him go away! Daddy loved us, but you ruined everything!”
I froze. My hands trembled as her words echoed through me, cruel and unrelenting. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
She shoved the bowl across the table, porridge spilling onto the floor. “And Martin-” her voice cracked into a scream-“he’s the reason Daddy’s gone! I hate him! I hate you both!”
“Gwen-”
“Don’t touch me!” she cried, pushing her chair back with a screech before running toward her room. The slam of the door rattled through the house.
I sank into the chair, burying my face in my hands. The weight of everything–the loss, the lies, the endless explanations that never reached her–pressed against my chest until I thought I might collapse. My little girl hated me.
The sound of footsteps made me look up. Martin stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of worry and resolve.
“I heard,” he said quietly. “Let me handle this.”
I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. “She doesn’t want you near her. She blames you.”
“Then I’ll make her see otherwise,” he said firmly. “You’ve carried this long enough, Emerald. Let me do it.”
For the next few days. he did. He started small–slipping Gwen little notes with silly
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༥ ༤ 6%%L For the next few days, he did. He started small–slipping Gwen little notes with silly doodles, leaving her favorite candies by her bedside, fixing the stuffed bunny she’d torn in anger. At first, she ignored him. She refused to look at him, muttered under her breath, and clung stubbornly to her silence.
But Martin was patient. Every evening, he’d sit by the living room, building Lego towers or telling stories loud enough for her to hear. He never pushed, never forced her, just left the door open.
By the third day, Gwen peeked out from her room, her small head tilted, eyes curious despite herself. Martin caught her gaze and smiled–not too wide, just gentle, inviting.
“Want to help me make the tower taller?” he asked.
She hesitated, then padded over and sat down beside him. She didn’t say a word, but she picked up a block and placed it carefully on the top. Martin clapped his hands dramatically. “Perfect! I couldn’t have done it without you.”
A tiny smile flickered on her face before she hid it behind her hand.
I watched from the doorway, my heart aching and healing all at once.
Day by day, the walls she had built around herself began to crumble. Her laughter returned in fragments–first a giggle, then a full burst when Martin pretended to lose to her at checkers. Slowly, her cheeks regained their color, and she began to eat again, spoonful by spoonful.
And then one night, as I was folding laundry in my room, Gwen slipped in quietly. She crawled into my lap, wrapping her arms around me tightly.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean it. I was just… so mad. I wanted Daddy. I miss him.”
Tears burned my eyes as I stroked her hair. “Oh, Gwen. I’m sorry too. I should’ve explained better. I should’ve told you why.”
She tilted her head, eyes searching mine. “Why did Daddy leave us?”
The question crushed me, but I couldn’t lie anymore. She deserved the truth, even if it hurt. I took a deep breath.
“Daddy didn’t leave because he wanted to, Gwen. He… he made choices that hurt us. And there were people–bad people–who wanted to take you from me. Nadine, my stepsister, she… she planned it. She wanted to hurt us. That’s why I had to take you away, to keep you safe.”
Her lips quivered. “So Daddy doesn’t hate us?”
“No, sweetheart. He loved you. He loves you still, I’m sure of it. But sometimes love isn’t enough to protect us. That’s why we had to leave.”
She buried her face in my chest, her small body trembling. “I was so scared, Mama. I thought you didn’t love me.”
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I kissed the top of her head, rocking her gently. “I love you more than anything in this world. And I promise–we’ll be happy. Even without Daddy, we’ll make our own happiness. Just you, me, and…” I glanced toward the door where Martin lingered quietly, not wanting to intrude. “…and Martin, if you’ll let him.”
Gwen looked over, her eyes softening. For the first time, she didn’t glare at him. Instead, she gave a small nod before snuggling closer into me.
In that moment, I felt the weight of the past weeks lift, just a little. The cracks in our broken family might never fully heal, but as long as I had Gwen’s tiny arms around me, I knew we could survive.
And maybe, just maybe, even find joy again.
Chapter 15
