Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Ben is wrong. My little girl isn’t fine.
Chapter 2
LAURA
I’m late picking Penny up from school. I got distracted earlier researching child behavior again, and before I knew it, three hours had passed in a blur. Then, I hit a detour only after driving half a mile, forcing me to go down bumpy side streets to get back to the main road.
When I finally get to the school, I power walk across the lot. Penny is standing near the school entrance, talking to her teacher. I cringe inside when I notice there are no other kids around. Their parents were all on time.
“Penny!” I call out happily as I walk toward them, but her head doesn’t turn. “Penny! Mommy’s here.” I raise my voice to be heard across the distance. Her teacher turns my way, smiles, then taps Penny’s shoulder and points at me. Finally, my daughter turns and blinks at me as I approach—almost as if she doesn’t recognize me.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. There was a detour and traffic.” And the endless rabbit hole of the internet.
“It’s no problem at all.” Her teacher says. “It happens. I’m always happy to wait, Mrs. Rose.”
“I appreciate it. I promise it won’t happen again.” I reach for Penny’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Say goodbye to Miss Foster.”
Penny gives the teacher a small wave and we head to the parking lot.
“Why were you so late?” she demands as I’m buckling her into the car seat. “What were you doing all damn day?”
For a moment, I’m speechless. “Penny!” I say in a hushed yet stern tone. I glance around quickly with flushed cheeks, hoping no one heard my child scolding me in the middle of a parking lot. “You can’t talk to me that way.”
“Yes, I can!” she says adamantly. “Why is it so hard to be on time? You don’t even have a job. Taking care of me is your job.”
I meet her accusing stare and she holds my gaze, unwavering. Her words are like daggers of truth, stabbing me in the chest. She’s right. Being a mom is my job now.
Sometimes, that’s a painful dose of reality for someone who once had a successful career.
“I’m your mother,” I remind my daughter. “And you are not my boss.”
“Can you at least try not to be late anymore? Please?” Her frustrated tone, contrasted with the way she’s clutching her lunchbox with trembling fingers, is so contradictory. Sometimes, she acts and speaks like a teenager—feisty with a major attitude using words I have no idea where she picked up. Other times, she’s sweet and vulnerable.
“Yes.” I lean into the car and kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry I was late.”
“I thought something bad happened to you.” Her voice wavers and she looks down at her hands.
My heart swells with a tidal wave of despair. I stroke her cheek and tuck strands of her hair behind her ear. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me, Penny.”
Still not looking up, she says in a small voice, “What if something bad happens to me?”
A chill tiptoes up my spine, sprinkling goose bumps over my arms. Children aren’t supposed to think about things like that, let alone say them. Penny has been raised with gentle love and kindness. Nothing scary or bad has ever happened to her or to anyone we know. I wonder if she’s seen or heard something in school that’s instilled fear in her. Could that be why she has occasional nightmares? My stomach lurches when another possibility flashes through my mind.
What if someone did something to her when she snuck out of the house?
I inhale a deep breath and force a smile to my lips.
“Sweetheart, I will never let anything happen to you. I promise.”
She slowly lifts her head and looks me in the eye. “You can’t stop bad things. Nobody can.”
The smile stays plastered to my lips—a lie masking the chill in my bones. “Bad things aren’t going to happen to you, or to me, or to Daddy.”
Holding my gaze for a few beats, she blinks, then says, “Okay, Mommy. Can I have rice for dinner?”
Oh, the marvel and relief that a child can switch subjects so quickly.
“Of course you can.” Penny’s favorite meal is white rice with a tiny bit of spaghetti sauce on it. I don’t even know how or when she started eating it. It’s not something I ever made before until she specifically asked for it one night. “Do you want to go to the park on the way home? Play on the swings for a while?” I ask with a lilt of hope in my voice.
She immediately shakes her head. “God, no.”
Penny never wants to play with other children, no matter how many times I’ve taken her to the pool or the park. She just sits there with an expression that clearly and undeniably says, What the hell am I doing here? Instead of engaging with the other kids, she always looks distracted, bored, lost. Displaced.