Maisie glances at me. I nod. She climbs into the chair, legs dangling.
They start with the chart across the room. The letters shrink as they go down, and she leans forward until her nose almost touches the machine. Her voice is soft when she guesses some of them, hesitant, barely above a whisper.
The tech makes notes.
As soon as the tech steps outside, Maisie slides down from the chair and clutches my hand again. “Am I failing?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Your eyes just need a little help, that’s all.”
“I don’t like when things are blurry.”
“I know. We’re gonna fix that.”
She nods like she’s trusting me with something big. Maybe she is.
Then the doctor steps in, an older man with warm eyes, and he gives me a handshake that borders on apologetic. “Heard you’re Dr. Benard’s patient. He’s not around, but I promise your niece will be in great hands. I’m Dr. Austin.”
I greet him back. Maisie follows suit.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, this won’t hurt at all,” he tells her.
Then he starts her tests.
Maisie answers every instruction, though her fingers twist together. She looks so damn small perched on that chair.
“Does this look clearer?” the doctor asks after switching the lenses. “Or this?”
She hesitates. “Umm… the first one?”
He swaps again. “How about now?”
“That one,” she says after a long pause.
I stay beside her, hand on the back of the chair, letting her know she’s not navigating any of this alone.
After a few more rounds, the doctor steps back. “She definitely needs glasses,” he says gently. “Nothing serious. Just enough to help her see things without straining.”
I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Relief mixes with something sharper. Something that burns.
I noticed this in days.
Days.
Amber lived with her every day of her life and… nothing?
Maisie hops down.
We head to the optician next door to fill out her prescription.
The tech leads us to the wall of frames. Maisie lights up like she’s entered a candy shop.
“Can I try those?” she asks, pointing to a huge pair of round glasses that look like they belong to a cartoon owl.
“Absolutely,” the tech says.
The frames swallow half her face when she puts them on. She pushes them up her small nose and looks at me with a crooked grin.
“You look like Harry Potter,” I say before I can stop myself.
