Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. With Michael away, the oppressive atmosphere in the house lifted like fog burning off in the sun.
“Emma?” I called out softly. “What would you like to do today?”
She looked at me, gauging my reaction. “I want… to go to the park.”
It was a wish. A real, spoken desire. My heart leaped.
“Done,” I said. “I’ll pack a lunch.”
We went to Kerry Park. Emma ran. She actually ran. She pumped her legs on the swing, her hair flying behind her like a golden banner. For lunch, I had made simple ham sandwiches. I watched, holding my breath, as she picked up a triangle.
She took a bite. Then another.
“Is it… is it good?” I asked, my voice choking.
She nodded, a shy smile touching her lips. “I like Mama’s sandwiches.”
I had to look away to hide the tears. She ate. She was capable of eating. It wasn’t physical.
But that evening, as the sun set and the shadows lengthened in the kitchen, the fear returned….. Read More :
