"We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones."
-Stephen King-
1886Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuSRTHCeUDF
When she first came into our lives, Emma was seven years old. She stood on the doorstep wearing patchy denim shorts and a sleeveless, pink t-shirt. A pink, flowery rucksack hung from one of her shoulders and her hands were clasped nervously to her body. Occasionally reaching up to tug at her hair, which was pulled back messily into a blonde plait that cascaded down her back, she greeted me with a little smile that warmed my heart.
Out of all the other kids, we had chosen her to join our family mainly because of her age. Our son Luke was almost seven and we wanted a sibling and playmate for him. I yearned for a daughter.
Emma was very small and skinny for her age. Each time she bent her limbs, her bones looked as though they would poke through her skin. The social worker had told us this was probably a result of being under-fed at her last home. She had only been in foster care for a short period of time, because social services had wanted to place her in a stable, long-term home environment as quickly as possible, so she was still recovering from the trauma she had suffered. That was why we felt it was our duty to change her life for the better.
"Good morning, Miss Rayne," was the first thing that Emma said as I opened the front door and noticed her standing there. She looked so fragile and innocent, perched on the edge of the doorstep. I glanced around to see where the person was who had brought her, realizing that she could not have come alone. Amanda, her social worker, was lugging her suitcases across the garden.
"Hello, Emma," I smiled, trying my hardest to look friendly and approachable. "And hello Amanda!" I acknowledged her social worker, who seemed to be having some difficulty maneuvering the suitcases around a tree in the middle of the lawn. "One minute," I said to Emma as I ran to assist her.
"How are you, Laura?" Amanda asked, as I took one suitcase from her. We split up to go around either side of the tree, then joined together again to drag them across the rest of the grass.
"I'm good." I heaved a suitcase over the doorstep and across the carpet. "Is Emma okay?" I turned my attention back to the little girl still standing outside the door.
"How are you feeling, Emma?" Amanda asked her.
"I'm feeling happy," she replied. "I like your house, Miss Rayne."
"Thank you." I shuffled awkwardly across the carpet towards her. "Come inside. And you can call me..." I hesitated for a moment, realising I had almost said 'Mum'. I didn't want to push her into anything, but I wanted her to feel a part of the family. "You may call me Laura."
She took a step into the hallway and slipped her shoes off. Remembering that Amanda was still holding the larger suitcase, I helped her to carry it into the house. Emma stood waiting patiently. After closing the door, I invited the pair into the living room.
"Emma has been very excited about today," Amanda explained as she perched on the settee. She patted the empty space between us and Emma obediently joined us.
"Is this gonna be my forever home?" she asked innocently, coining the phrase that Amanda had used with me many times in the past month.
"Yes," I assured her. "Unless we ever move houses." She looked a bit concerned at this, so I quickly added "which I'm sure we never will."
"And you'll have your own bedroom here," Amanda butted in, trying to steer the conversation in a more positive direction. "Laura has painted it all pink for you - I told her it was your favourite colour."
"Really!" Emma cried in delight, bouncing up and down on the settee like an excited puppy. "Can I go see it? Does it have a pink bed? I have a pink teddy that sleeps with me, can I show him to you?" She gushed, as if every question in her head had suddenly been freed. "Sorry," she added, becoming immediately aware of her unexpected outburst.
I was unsure how to reply so just said "It's okay," and "When Amanda goes, I will take you up to see it."
"Okay, Laura." There was a moment of silence before she asked "So, are you my new Mummy?", shuffling closer and giving me a better view of her cute, blue eyes. Yet again, I didn't quite know what to say. Then I remembered that Amanda was her social worker and looked up slightly to see her reaction. She nodded slowly, hidden behind the little girl.
"Yes, Emma," I replied. "I guess I am your new Mummy."
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