I woke up to the smell of toast.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then I saw the wooden horse on the shelf.
I remembered Grandma's house.
I sat up slowly.
My cheek still hurt.
My wrists felt uncomfortable beneath the bandages.
But I wasn't behind a curtain.
That mattered.
I picked up Lily.
Her missing arm was still bothering me.
I carried her downstairs.
Grandma was in the kitchen.
She was making breakfast.
When she saw me, she smiled.
"Good morning."
"Good morning."
She pointed toward the chair.
"Come sit."
I climbed onto it.
A plate was already waiting.
There was toast, fruit, and a small glass of milk.
Grandma placed Lily beside me.
"She can have breakfast with us."
I smiled.
For a few minutes, we didn't talk about anything serious.
Grandma asked whether I wanted more toast.
I said no.
She asked whether I had slept well.
I nodded.
Then she sat across from me.
Her expression became more serious.
"Would you like to talk about what happened?"
I looked at Lily.
"Do I have to?"
"No."
I waited.
Grandma continued.
"But if there's something you want me to understand, I'll listen."
I rubbed the doll's broken arm.
I remembered the birthday.
The curtain.
The camera.
Dad's voice.
I remembered the way he had told me to stay upstairs even though I wasn't upstairs.
Then I remembered the day before.
My words came slowly.
I told Grandma that I had been frightened.
I told her that I had been hurting.
I told her that I hadn't understood why Dad was so angry.
She listened.
She didn't interrupt.
Sometimes she asked me to explain something again.
Sometimes she simply nodded.
I found that I could say more when nobody rushed me.
At one point, I stopped.
Grandma waited.
I looked at her.
"Are you disappointed in me?"
Her eyebrows drew together.
"Why would I be?"
"Because I made everyone look at me."
She reached across the table.
"You didn't create this problem by being seen."
I stared at her.
She continued.
"Your injuries deserved attention before anyone saw them. The photographs didn't change that."
I looked down.
I hadn't realized how much I needed someone to say those words.
Grandma got up and brought a small wooden box from the cupboard.
She placed it on the table.
Inside were sewing supplies, buttons, and a little tube of glue.
"Let's see what we can do about Lily."
I smiled.
She examined the broken arm.
Then she explained that we would need someone with the right materials to repair it properly.
"We won't force it back into place."
I nodded.
She put the doll safely inside the box.
Then she returned to the kitchen.
My aunt arrived a little later.
She brought a small bag of groceries.
She also brought news.
The adults involved were arranging the next steps.
There would be further conversations.
There would be proper assessments.
And there would be a careful plan before anyone decided where I should stay.
Dad had contacted her again.
He wanted to know when I was coming home.
Grandma listened quietly.
Then she asked whether he had agreed to cooperate with the process.
My aunt said he was still upset.
Grandma nodded.
"Then we'll keep things clear and documented."
I didn't understand every word.
But I understood that nobody was planning to send me back simply because Dad wanted it.
That afternoon, Grandma took me into the garden.
She brought a small watering can.
I watered the flowers near the fence.
My hands were uncomfortable, so she helped me.
A little water spilled onto the path.
I looked at it.
"Sorry."
Grandma smiled.
"Flowers don't mind a little extra water."
I laughed.
It was the first time I had laughed since the birthday.
We sat on the garden bench afterward.
I watched a butterfly land on one of the flowers.
Grandma asked whether I wanted to come back outside the next day.
I nodded.
Then I asked whether she still had the old photographs from when I was little.
She smiled.
"All of them."
"Even the messy ones?"
"Especially those."
I looked at her.
She explained that the photographs she loved most weren't always the ones where everyone looked perfect.
Sometimes someone was blinking.
Sometimes a child was crying.
Sometimes the cake had fallen sideways.
"Those are the pictures that remind us what really happened."
I thought about my father's birthday.
I thought about the empty space where I should have been standing.
Then I looked at Grandma.
"I wish I had been in the picture."
She put her arm around me.
"One day, we'll take a photograph together."
I rested my head against her shoulder.
For once, I wasn't worried about how my face looked.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: When My Father Finally Came to Speak With Grandma, He Brought His Birthday Photographs, but She Was More Interested in the Empty Space Where I Should Have Been
My Father Wanted a Perfect Birthday Photograph, but He Had Forgotten That One Person in the Room Always Noticed the Things Everyone Else Ignored
Part 7 of 20
