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Her nose wrinkles. “Not really, although I’d probably freak out if I was put in a box.”
“Understandably,” I mutter. “But that’s not what I meant. What did you mean when you said you didn’t like feeling stuck?”
She picks up her napkin and twists it around her fingers. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Do you feel trapped in our relationship?” I ask.
Her eyes dart to mine, and she gives her head a vigorous shake. “Of course not.”
“Then what is it?” I lean across the table and place a hand on her shoulder. “You can tell me anything, baby. All I want is to make you happy.”
“I have cleithrophobia.”
“What’s that?”
“A fear of being trapped.”
“From being locked up?”
Emberly ducks her head, inhales several deep breaths and tightens her jaw. “I was four years old, maybe five.” She swallows. “Mom used to work all day and lock me in the studio apartment. She couldn’t afford childcare, but she also kept thinking that the people out to get her would take me as a hostage.”
My heart sinks into my stomach as I picture a little girl with wild curls stuck in a cramped room, comparing it to the freedom I had as a kid on a huge estate with two brothers to play with, cousin Leroi, his little sister, and Capello’s twin sons.
“She kept you there all day?” I ask, my brows furrowing. “No neighbor to check up on you? What did you even eat?”
Emberly wipes her brow. “I got used to the confinement. Mom always left sandwiches on the table and a big bottle of water. I got to watch TV, draw pictures, and play with toys.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I had no idea.”
“That’s not the worst.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Something happened?”
“One day, I got sick of cold sandwiches and tried to use the toaster oven. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I started a fire.” Her voice trembles. “The room filled with smoke, then the alarm sounded. The windows were locked, and I was trapped. The place was so cluttered that the fire spread across the kitchenette. I broke a window but didn’t have the guts to climb out. All I could do was lean against the door and scream for help.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. “How did you get out? Were you hurt?”
“No… Not really.”
“Emberly?”
“A neighbor heard me and used one of those fire axes to make a hole in the door, so I could crawl into the hallway. I went to the ER for smoke inhalation and then Mom got arrested for child endangerment.” Her voice cracks and tears stream down her cheeks.
“What happened next?” I ask.
“I was trapped in a hospital for days with an oxygen mask and tubes coming out of my arms. Nobody would tell me what they’d done to Mom, and I was terrified I’d never see her again.”
My heart aches so much for her I can’t even form the right words. Guilt squeezes my chest for making her dredge up something so painful just to distract her from asking about Capello.
Pulling her onto my lap, I hold her close as she cries. “How long until you were reunited with your mother?”
She shudders. “A month. I had to stay in a foster home with a woman who locked me in a closet when I cried. Then she’d get mad at me if I peed myself. At least Mom gave me free rein of an entire apartment. When CPS finally reunited us, Mom moved us to a new town.”
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper into her hair. “You’re safe now. You never need to be afraid again.”
She clings to my neck, her body trembling with sobs. I stroke her hair, trying to soothe her pain.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmur. “Counseling? Therapy? I’ll do whatever it takes to help you heal.”
