Shattered|The Fosters

12

Lena's P.O.V

I look around the table, seeing everyone plop large amounts of food on their plates.

Well, most of them.

Jesus is already gorging himself in the home made lasagna Stef and I made together.

Emilia has just been released from the hospital, and we're trying to get her settled in.

"Callie, do you know where Emilia is, love?" Stef asks, wiping her hand on a napkin.

"I think she's outside." Callie says, standing up. "I'll get her."

"No." I say, almost to quickly.

Callie and Jude are with her nonstop, and Mariana and Jesus are already acting like she's part of our family.

I'm pretty sure she trusts Stef more than me, and quite frankly, I want to be part of her life to. "Eat. I'll get her."

I walk outside and see her sweeping the garage floor, sweeping the dust into a pile near the garbage can.

"Emilia, come inside. It's time for dinner. And be careful not to hurt yourself, you just got back from the hospital two days ago."

"I'll be inside in a minute, I just need to finish." She never looks up at me, only at the floor.

"You don't have to, Emmie, you really don't. Now come inside, we're waiting for you."

She doesn't listen, just keeps sweeping the floor and putting the excess into a pile over and over again.

"Emilia. Come inside and eat dinner. Now" I warn, not used to her behaving like this.

"I can't!" She yells, fuming into a burst of anger. "I can't eat if I don't do this, Lena!"

My heart stops dead in my chest.

I can't eat if I don't do this.

The words echo in my head, making my heart out in my temple. '
Try to get her to eat, she won't eat anything.'

I try to think back, searching to find a memory of her actually putting food in her mouth during meals.

She looks at me, frustrated. "I can't eat unless I work. I don't deserve it." She whispers, leaning against the wall and crunching into a ball on the floor with her knees against her chest.

"Why?" I ask, all of my questions leaching into this one word sentence.

She sighs, not wanting to tell me.

I try again, this time more persistent. "When was the last time you ate?"

She shrugs, looking up into my eyes. "I think I ate a banana on Friday."

Friday.

It's Saturday.

Eight days.

Oh god.

"Why can't you eat?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"I wasn't allowed." She hesitates, rubbing her collarbone. "Only when I worked for it. Even then, it was minimal." She let's out a loose breath. "I guess that's just how it was."

I stand up, wiping my sweaty palms against my pants.

"I'll be back in a few. I have to ask Stef something." I say, leaving.

I cover my mouth with my hand, my stomach lurching.

'I wasn't allowed'.

Who doesn't allow their child to eat?

"Stef," I ask, grabbing her elbow and meeting her concerned eyes. "We need to talk. Upstairs."

The kids look at us with wide eyes, their eyes pounding questions.

When we're out of the open, a loud sob escapes past my lips and I fall onto the bed.

"Eight days. She hasn't eaten in eight days." I say, tears sliding down my cheeks like pounding rain.