“Milo moe!” My voice is strained as I drop to my knees to catch her. Pulling her into me so tight that she lets out a small sound, I brush my hands lovingly over her hair and down her back. “I missed you,” I whisper against her temple while taking a deep breath of her scent.
“I waited,” she says, her voice soft. Her fingers curl into my blouse as she presses as close to me as she can get. “I was good, Mama.”
“I know you were,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to cup her face, my thumb brushing over the swell of her rosy cheek. “You’re always good.”
She studies me, her small brows pulling together as her hand lifts and touches my cheek.
“You’re cold.”
I force a comforting smile to my face. “I’m okay.”
Simi’s lips press into a tiny line like she doesn’t believe me, then she shifts and wraps her arms tightly around my neck.
“I don’t like it here,” she whispers, her mouth close to my ear.
My chest tightens, and my heart constricts painfully, but by the grace of God, I keep my voice steady. “I know,sartse moe. I wish I could whisk us away from here.”
Simi pulls slightly back, and her gaze flicks toward the door before returning to me. “Ivan’s scary.”
I smooth her hair back. “Just don’t look at him.”
“I don’t,” she says quickly. “I look at the floor.”
“That’s good. Just keep doing it.”
She nods, then presses her cheek to my chest again. “If I’m quiet, they leave me alone.”
She’s referring to Ivan and Tanya.
My throat burns, but I force a soft smile. “I’m here now,milo moe.”
She listens to my heart that beats only for her.
“I wish you could stay with me, Mama,” she whispers.
“I wish that too.”
We sit like this for a moment longer before she lifts her head, her mood shifting like it always does. “Do you want to play with me?”
A smile widens on my face. “Of course.”
Simi slides off my lap and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the corner where her coloring book and a few toys are scattered. Her movements are quick and eager, like she’s trying to fit everything into too little time, and it makes my heart shrivel from the intense pain rippling through me.
“Sit,” she says, tugging on my hand until I drop down beside her. I’m handed a doll with a missing leg. “You be the mommy.”
A soft chuckle escapes me. “I am the mommy.”
She giggles, a small bright sound that cuts right through me. “No, you be the doll mommy.”
“Okay,” I say, adjusting the doll in my hands.
Kneeling, she picks up another doll. When she positions hers in front of mine, she says, “She’s scared and wants her mommy.”
Oh God.
A lump instantly forms in my throat, and my eyes sting with unshed tears.
Simi’s eyes flit to my face, and I swallow hard before asking, “Why is she scared?”
