Lillian sighed and walked back inside to finish getting ready. “Mom is going through a lot, Amelia. She won’t appreciate being nagged about that. I doubt she’ll be well enough to drive anyway.”
“If Dad were here, he could take us.” My tone emerged bitter, memories of our father’s recent abandonment sinking their teeth into me. Our mother hadn’t provided many details; she had only said that he was dangerous and that he didn’t love us.
That sentence had carved a deep gash in my soul. A raw,bleeding wound that pulsed with agonizing pain, one that would have a long-standing effect.
Lillian remained silent, the grief between us was a blanket woven from shared loss and unvoiced fears.
The silence stretched, interrupted only by the chirping of birds, an eerily cheerful contrast to the anxiety knotting in my stomach.
School suddenly felt insignificant. The problem of our mother pressed down upon me, her figure sprawled on the lawn like a discarded doll, a sorrowful symbol of a family fractured beyond repair.
But Lillian moved on more quickly than I did. She yanked me inside and ordered me to finish getting ready. Eventually, we made our way, walking down the road together.
It took longer to reach the elementary school since we were on foot, and we barely made it on time. Lillian dropped me off at my classroom and then went her separate way to her designated class.
The day dragged slowly, the events surrounding my mother replaying in my mind. Seeing her like that left a hollow sadness within me, one that branded me unlovable, invisible.
At recess, I sat alone on the grass. A cacophony of joyous shouts and squeals filled the air as children tumbled and played, their energy radiating around me. The sounds taunted my internal turmoil, as if to say, ‘this will never be you.’
The world faded away for a short time; I felt unseen, unheard, a silent observer in my own life. I could have melted into the shadows like a ghost, and nobody would have noticed.
That thought, a faint whisper in the back of my mind, lingered until a body settled beside me. I nearly jumped away, surprise etched on my features.
“Hello,” the boy said, gazing at me with wide, curious eyes.
“Hi,” came my quiet, shy response. I had seen him before at school, but his name escaped me like a fleeting shadow.
“What are you doing over here by yourself?”
My hands fiddled nervously with the grass. “I just don’t feel like pretending to be happy.”
“Why aren’t you happy?” He continued to ask questions, his eyes warm and inviting. I leaned into that warmth, relishing the fact that someone was noticing me.
“I don’t think my momma loves me. I keep thinking she’s going to leave like my dad did.” The words spilled from my mouth before I could stop them, and I immediately shrank back in shame for oversharing with this boy.
But instead of laughing at me, he sat there with an expression of kindness.
“I’m sorry. I can understand feeling forgotten. My mom left too.”
His smile was soft and delicate, barely a twitch of his lips, yet somehow meaningful. His sorrow hung heavily in the air, and I felt seen, the weight of his pain connecting us.
“Yeah, it’s not a fun feeling.” The boy didn’t push any further after my response but sat with me in the grass. His presence offered an odd comfort.
“I’m Caiden, by the way. You’re Amelia, right?”
Caiden. It was a nice name. Unique.
I imagined our friendship, Caiden and Amelia, two inseparable kids formed by a shared sadness. There was a magnetic pull toward him.
He was cute with his boyish features. The way his hair danced in the breeze, how his eyes shimmered like the hues of moonlight and sunlight.
I had never had such thoughts about a boy before, but I embraced them in that moment.
His face seemed familiar, too, as though we had shared a moment like this before.
“Caiden,” the name rolled off my tongue. “Nice to meet you. But how did you know my name?”
He shrugged, as if it didn’t mean much, but his expression said otherwise. “I’ve seen you around, and I pay attention sometimes. You seem like a nice girl.”
