“And you always do what he says?”
She smiled, adoration for her dad stamped on her expression. “He rarely asks anything, so yes.”
I nodded.
She hesitated, and I realized how tight my shoulders were. I moved to soften my posture, making the space feel less clinical, less intimidating.
“Do you want to sit?” I asked, gesturing beside me.
She hovered, weighing the decision. It didn’t take her long, and with a stubborn tilt to her chin that reminded me so much of my sister, Lily, she crossed the room. However, she took a seat on the armchair across from me, keeping a distance between us. It hurt, but I shouldn’t have expected more. I was but a mere stranger to her.
Her light purple dress reached down to her knees and she crossed her legs, appearing calm. But her hands betrayed her. She picked at a loose thread, twisting it and untwisting it as she worried at her bottom lip.
“So you’re here for my mother,” she said.
I nodded once, although I wasn’t quite sure. “That’s right.”
“Can you cure her?” she asked, her voice trembling lightly. “It would be so nice to have a mom.” I stiffened, pain slashing through me. Unaware of the impact her words had, she continued, “Papa is great, and so is my brother, but I can’t talk to them about some things.”
“I haven’t met your mother yet, so I can’t say,” I said evenly. “And what things do you mean?”
Her lips pressed together. “Boys. Mean girls.”
“From school?”
“Yes.” Her shoulders slumped. “Sometimes I get so mad that I want to murder them.”
“Your papa and brother?”
She shook her head, her curls swaying.
“The kids.” She leaned forward, meeting my gaze. “Do you think I’ll end up like my mother? Crazy and wanting to kill everyone?” Her voice wavered. “I don’t want to be like that,” she whispered.
I wanted to pull her into a hug and protect her from the sharp edges of the world. But I knew that wouldn’t go well, so I settledfor the pain of my nails digging into my palms, letting it ground me.
“You won’t turn into her,” I said gently.
Hope flickered in her eyes before extinguishing almost immediately.
“How do you know? It’s genetics.”
I leaned forward slightly, putting my hand on hers to calm her restless fingers. “You are not her and you will never be her.”
She frowned. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” I said calmly, although I couldn’t tell her how I knew it with such certainty. I stuck to the facts that I’d learned and observed over the years. “Yes, certain mental illnesses can be hereditary, but genetic predisposition is often combined with environmental factors,” I explained softly. “You live in a loving home. Your papa and brother love you and cherish you. And if it comes to the point that you need someone else to talk to, I’m here as well.”
I really hoped I would be here for the remainder of my life because now that I’d seen her and talked to her, I knew it would be impossible to walk away.
Aria searched my face. Her shoulders loosened slightly and she let out a relieved sigh. My conviction and facts must have assured her.
“I like you,” she decided. “A lot.”
My eyes burned and I blinked furiously, trying to keep my composure at bay.
“I like you too, Aria,” I rasped.
“Will you stay?” I swallowed a lump in my throat and nodded. “You promise?”
