Little Emma stood on the other side, her hands on her hips, and she marched right through the opening as soon as it was wide enough for her to fit. “Hello,” she said.
“Uh… hello,” I said, following her little steps through the cabin until she plopped down onto the rug and began taking off her sneakers.
“Where are they?” she asked me.
I closed the door and turned around to face her. “Where are what?”
“Your shoes, silly.” She giggled. “‘Member—you told me I could wear dem someday.”
My mouth opened, then closed again. “Umm…Does your mom know you’re here?”
She nodded matter-of-factly. “Yep. She suuuure does. Said I could come ober today.”
George trotted over and began sniffing at her copper hair.
The girl shrieked, scrambling back, then ran over to my legs and held her arms up for me to lift her.
I scooped her off the ground, and she immediately buried her face into my shoulder, looping her tiny fists around my neck.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I soothed, rubbing her back. “That’s just George. He’s a big baby. I promise.” I squatted down, holding her on my knees, and George came over, wagging his entire body, clueless that anyone could possibly be afraid of him.
“See?” I scratched behind his ear. “He just wants to say hi.”
She peeked out from her hiding place at my neck, her wide eyes darting toward George. He stayed where he was, then plopped his butt down and sprawled his large body across the rug, his tail thumping softly against the floor like he already knew he had to earn her trust.
She turned her face back toward me for reassurance, then inched off my lap, little by little, until her small hand stretched out and brushed the top of his head. George didn’t move, exceptfor that eager tail that beat harder now, thudding against the floor like a drum.
Her touch grew bolder, fingertips pressing into his fur. When he didn’t flinch, she tried again, this time longer, stroking him the way she might a stuffed animal. I felt her whole body shift against mine, muscles unclenching as the fear drained away.
Finally, she got down on all fours beside him. George rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh and showed her his belly. She leaned in, threw her arms around his neck in a fearless hug, and he licked her face, his tail wild. Giggles filled the cabin then, and soon they were rolling around on the floor together like long lost siblings.
I leaned back on my heels and watched them. She ran her hands through his fur, whispering something only he could hear. He licked her cheek, and she shrieked, pushing him back with both hands before collapsing onto her bottom.
The room softened around them. The earlier shock of her arrival faded into something that felt easy and normal. She wandered away from George after a while, padding across the cabin with her bare feet.
Her fingers trailed across the wall, she paused to look into the bathroom, out the window, then investigated the kitchen. Eventually, she stopped at the side of the bed, then turned around to face me again. “Okay,” she announced, “I’m ready to twy on your shoes now.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that came out of me, but I stood up, then walked to the closet and pulled open the door. She followed me inside, bypassing the requested flip-flops and going straight for the red stilettos I’d packed for the farewell dinner.
Her eyes lit up as she sat back on the floor and shoved her tiny feet into the toes. “I’m like a princess,” she said.
She tried to stand, but fell over almost instantly.
“Woah,” I said, grabbing hold of her hands until she steadied.
I sat on the floor watching her, my legs splayed out in front of me as she dug through my closet. Then a tightness wrapped around my chest, as I remembered sneaking into my own mother’s closet. I’d been about Emma’s age.
Those aren’t for you. Don’t touch them.
All I’d ever wanted was to be like her—slipping into her shoes, painting my lips the way she did, pretending for a moment that I belonged in her world.
Now, Emma wobbled across the cabin in my heels, unsteady but radiant, her laughter spilling out like it was Christmas morning. Pure. Uninhibited.
And suddenly, I realized it had never really been about the shoes or the lipstick. What I’d wanted was permission. Permission to take up space. To play. To be more instead of less.
And here Emma was, taking it without hesitation—no shame, no fear.
Something inside me loosened. Maybe this was how healing began—not in erasing the past, but in watching someone else step boldly into the spaces you once longed for, and finding that you could cheer them on instead of aching for what you’d missed.
