She has a small bump forming on the side of her head and a bit of bruising starting, but again, nothing major. Obviously, I don’t like seeing my daughter in this state, but I know it could have been a lot worse, so my heart settles as I watch her sleepingpeacefully. If she had broken something, it would already be swelling or turning colors.
I brush my knuckles lightly against her cheek, then look back up at Bunny. She hasn’t moved from where I left her and watches me tentatively, as if she’s waiting for me to flip out and yell at her, but I have no intention of doing either.
I go back to her and claim her lips, hoping that will help settle her anxiety. Then I take her hand and walk us over to the single chair by the bed, where I sit down and place Emma on my lap. Her side presses against my chest as she nestles into my neck, and I stroke her hair repeatedly while we wait for the doctor to arrive.
Emma has been quiet since we got home, which isn’t like her. She’s normally full of life, my little energizer bunny. But right now, she seems so lost in her head that her light has dimmed.
I’ve tried to change her mood since we got home from the hospital. Joking with her, kissing her, making her laugh, but nothing seems to be working. She’s beating herself up over this, and I hate it. I just want to bring her back to me, make her see that she did nothing wrong. That she has no reason to blame herself.
Gracie has been sleeping most of the day, which the doctor says is completely normal, and to let her recuperate. As I thought, everything is fine with my baby girl, just some cuts, bumps, and bruises.
The doctor reassured us, but mostly Em, that it’s extremely common for things like this to happen. Kids like to follow their parents around, which sometimes puts them in situations theyshouldn’t be in. I think he could see all the misplaced guilt in Emma’s eyes.
From the moment we arrived at the house, Emma busied herself with useless tasks. Cleaning, doing laundry that didn’t need to be done, and rearranging drawers and cabinets that didn’t need to be rearranged.
And every time Gracie went to Em for attention, she found an excuse not to take her. A spark of fear passes through Emma’s eyes every time she goes to pick Gracie up, like she’s afraid she’ll hurt her. But then I find her watching my daughter when she thinks I’m not looking, and the blame in her demeanor kills me. I don’t want her distancing herself from Buttercup because of a simple accident.
It's getting late, so I put Gracie to bed while Em claims she needs to finish doing the dishes. After a warm bath, it doesn’t take long for my baby girl to fall into a peaceful sleep. When I finally make my way back downstairs, I find Emma sitting at the kitchen island with a box of tissues.
She grabs one quickly and wipes her face when she hears me coming up behind her. I don’t say anything, simply kissing her crown and going to the wine cellar to grab us a bottle. It’s become our tradition. Whenever I’m home for the night and we don’t have any other plans, we share a bottle of wine together before heading to bed. Just like the first time when our story began.
I reenter the kitchen, open the bottle, and pour us each a glass while keeping my eyes on Emma the whole time. She doesn’t look at me once, her gaze locked on her hands that rest on the countertop, where she picks at her nails continuously.
I don’t say a word as I place her glass in front of her while standing on the other side of the island with my own in hand. I give her the time she needs, simply observing her actions, the way her shoulders are slumped and shake lightly as she sniffles.The way her chest rises while she takes in deep breaths, letting them out slowly through her lips as she tries to control her emotions.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, her tiny voice filters through the room. It’s barely above a whisper, but I hear every word, and I hate them all. “I should have been more careful. I should have checked that the gate was properly locked. I don’t even know why I went up there. It was just a stupid shirt. I could have just left the stain and thrown it out, bought a new one. It didn’t even matter,” she sobs quietly, her gaze finally lifting to mine.
“It wasn’t your fault, Em,” I say softly.
She raises her voice, anger taking over, but it’s not directed at me. She’s angry with herself. “But it is! If I didn’t care so much about my clothes, none of this would have happened! If my mother’s stupid voice wouldn’t enter my mind every time I did something wrong, I never would have gone up those stairs. Proper ladies never get dirty. She would punish me if I ever got my clothes stained.”
“Your mother is a deranged bitch who only cares about herself and her image. It isn’t your fault that those ways were engrained in your mind. You did it out of habit.”
“But don’t you see, Greyson? I’m exactly like her. I put my needs first. I put my stupid clothes above Little Tulip, and look what happened!” she cries, streams pouring from her eyes, her guilt eating her from the inside.
I put my wine down and march over rapidly, grabbing her face between my palms with a little more force than necessary. But I’m angry. Angry at the words that just spilled from her mouth, angry that she would even think that for a second. She sobs louder and closes her eyes, refusing to meet my own.
“Look at me.” She shakes her head, pressing her tear filled eyes harder together. “Fucking look at me, Emma!” I shout furiously.When she finally opens her eyes and looks at me, my face is so close to hers that I can feel every exhale from her lips fanning mine.
“Listen to me and listen very carefully, because I will not repeat myself.Youarenothinglike that woman. You arenother, and you willneverbe her. You have the biggest heart I’ve ever seen, the purest soul I’ve ever known. You care so deeply about everyone around you, and you always put them first. You are the greatest version a human can be, something your mother will never achieve.” I shake my head slightly.
“So don’t you ever spew that kind of bullshit again. Don’t you even dare fucking think it. Because it’s the furthest thing from the truth, and I won’t tolerate it. I never want to hear you say something like that again. Do you understand me?” I growl fiercely, my eyes locked on hers as I breathe heavily through my nose, trying to dampen my rage.
I can’t fucking believe she would compare herself to such a nasty human being.
The tears continue to flow down her cheeks as she nods in my hold. “I’m sorry…” she whispers with a trembling voice.
I sigh, my body losing tension as my eyes close momentarily, and I rest my forehead against hers. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so angry,” I murmur.
“You have every right to be angry with me. I’m angry at myself,” she says back, making me lift my head from hers.
My hands are still cupping her cheeks while I look deeply into her eyes. “Stop. I’m not angry with you, and you have no reason to be angry, Em.”
“How can you say that? How can you be so okay with what happened?”
I remove my hands from her face and take one of hers in mine, pulling her up and off the stool. I don’t give her time to question as I walk us over to the stairs where the gate appears to beclosed. I put my hands on her shoulders and bring her in front of me, her back to my front.
“It’s closed, right?” I whisper against her ear.
