Page 46 of Nyx

"What are you ladies working on now?" Dana asks, and I see the roll of Daisy's eyes at her mother's question.

There's at least some level of hatred this poor girl has for her mother, and that's going to be a lot to work through. It may be something they can work through and come out the other side of it healthy and happy, and then there's always a chance Daisy will spend her life blaming her mother for what she witnessed during the first nine years of her life. It's too early to tell right now, but I'm not a therapist, and although I might adjust the way I speak to her to help her make a little progress, I'm not going to question or try to get to the bottom of it.

"This is... Hmm," I say, mocking confusion. "We're... ummm..."

"Sorting the decks of cards and putting them in order," Daisy says. Her words aren't hateful, but the tone could use some work.

"And you found how many were missing cards?" I ask.

"Two sets so far," Daisy says, but her smile is directed at me, not her mother.

I give the child a smile, knowing we're working on progress, not perfection.

"I'm going to go add these decks to the shopping list, so we have them later in the week," I say as I stand. "I bet your mom will be better at figuring it out than I will."

Dana steps closer, fear in her eyes that she's about to be rejected by her daughter.

I pause in front of her. "You do know the difference between light green and dark green, right?"

"I do," Dana says with a smile.

"Good!" Daisy says. "Juliet put all the greens in the same pile."

"Green is green," I say, repeating what I told the child earlier.

Daisy sighs as if frustrated, but she's grinning at me when I look back at her.

I leave the room, wondering how often the kids wanted to spend time with Dana when she wasn't physically or emotionally available. Kids learn very early on to stop asking for things when they're always told no, but that does nothing to staunch the need for interaction with people who love them.

The cards are sorted just in time for dinner, and I add the additional decks that were found to be incomplete to the shopping list, taking the opportunity to step out back when everyone is sitting down to dinner.

The sun has started to set, but the heat of the day still clings to everything it has touched. I tilt my head back, eyes closed, and pull in a deep breath.

I've enjoyed my last two shifts here at Juniper House, but my enjoyment here has little to do with avoiding going home.

I thought years ago that the loneliness I felt when I first left home would fade, and it did for a while. I was able to get lost in my jobs and the new, almost-freedom I let myself believe I had. In recent years, the isolation from any genuine friendships or even confidants has taken its toll on me.

There are days I question whether leaving was ever really necessary, or if the danger I felt would find me at some point was just something I created in my head, more about needing a change of scenery than real necessity.

I startle at the shuffle of feet on the outside of the fence, the shadow of someone walking making its way through the cracks.

"Hello?" I ask when everything in my body tells me to run.

"It's just me," an unfamiliar voice says.

I don't respond, frozen in place, despite thinking I would act differently in the face of what I felt was real danger.

"Holler, ma'am. With Cerberus," he clarifies when I don't speak.

Confirmation that he's not someone trying to get to me or one of the women in the house does nothing to calm my racing heart.

"O-okay," I stammer.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he says. "We're always out here."

"Thank you for protecting us," I manage. "Have a good night."

I go back inside before he can respond, leaning my back against the closed door.