She was curled in a tight ball in the center of her enormous bed — a beautiful thing, white frame with a canopy. Fit for a princess.
She was shaking, and Mr. Whiskers was crushed against her face. Her knees were drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins.
I almost didn’t go in. She’s not my child. It wasn’t my place. There were boundaries, professional and personal, that I knew I should respect. But I couldn’t hear that and walk away.
I knocked softly on the open door. “Anya? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
She shook her head. A tiny, fierce motion, her face still buried in the rabbit.
“Did you have a bad dream?”
A nod.
“Can I get you some hot chocolate? My dad used to make it for me when I had nightmares. It’s the best in the world. I promise.”
She breathed a softyes, her eyes red-rimmed and enormous, and that was enough.
Now I’m back, standing in her doorway with the mug warm between my hands, watching her in her princess bed. She’s still curled tight, still holding the rabbit, but her shoulders have stopped shaking.
I sit on the edge of the bed carefully.
“Here,” I say, holding out the mug. “It’s still a little hot. Small sips.”
She takes it with both hands. They’re so small they barely wrap around the ceramic. She takes a sip. Her eyes widen slightly.
“Good?”
She nods, taking another sip.
“Do you want to talk about the dream?”
She shakes her head.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
I start to stand to leave. To give her space. She needs to know the door is open, but she needs to be the one to walk through it.
“Ellie?”
Her voice is so small it almost isn’t there. A whisper that barely disturbs the air.
I turn back.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again.
“Never mind,” she says. “It’s nothing.”
I sit back down. “It doesn’t sound likenothing.”
“It’s just…” She picks at the ear of the rabbit. “You don’t have to.”
“Don’t have to what?”
She gets smaller. She draws her shoulders in, tucks her chin, and curls around the mug and the rabbit, trying to take up as little space as possible.
“Stay,” she whispers. “You don’t have to stay.”
