Celine Monet has lived alone with her mother ever since she was five, when her parents got a divorce and only one won custody over her. But finally, eight years later, her father wins shared custody.
After moving across the country and settling...
My heart breaks, crumbling into unfixable little pieces. I set a hand on her shoulder, looking at her again for a moment. She's wearing the pyjamas she fell asleep in, and her feet are bare. I furrow my eyebrows again.
"Sweetheart, how did you get here?"
"I walked." She whispers, looking at the sponge in my hand.
I stand up, set it beside the sink and take her hand. She stands up with me, her bottom lip wobbling. I quickly take her out of the bathroom, and she follows without a word. When we're in the hall, I realise just how cold her small hand is in mine.
"You're freezing." I whisper, glad that I grabbed my coat on the way out of the house. I take it off and wrap it around her, guiding her arms into it. She lets me, seemingly numb to anything going on around her.
Then she snaps her head up to me, eyes wide like she's only noticing I'm here now. She takes a step back.
"It's okay, baby." I assure her, "come on, let's go home."
"No." She says, "I wanna stay here."
"We can't stay here, Celine." I say softly. "I'll get someone to come clean it. Okay?"
"She doesn't like when it's messy." She replies.
"I know. It won't be. I promise."
She doesn't move, doesn't talk. So I lift her up, and she still doesn't react, only idly leans her head on my shoulder.
•
"I found her trying to scrub the blood away. I don't know why it wasn't already cleaned up." I say.
Nicolas's eyes fill with sympathy. "That's so sad." He whispers, looking at his little sister, curled up in bed. Her face is red and streaked with tears, and she's holding onto the covers tightly.
"I know." I say sincerely.
Celine stirs. I snap my head back over to her, but she relaxes after a moment, turning her body toward us.
I set a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it idly as I lean back on the headboard. "I don't know what to do. With everything going on, with the hospital—"
"What?"
I look at him, realising my mistake. I wanted to wait until Celine was ready so she could tell everyone.
I hear her low grumble after a moment: "I've got cancer."
And then her eyes close again.
Léo
I like drawing. I'm not good at it, but I like it. I don't show anyone, especially not my brothers, because they'll make fun of whatever I draw.
I'd probably make fun of what I draw, too.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
