Page 36 of Lost Petal

“Thank you,” I say. “For... that. The stew. I don’t know if you made it, but... I loved it. Thank you.”

The girl looks at me, her eyebrows arched in pitiful sorrow while her lower lip begins to tremble. I can tell she wants to say something, that she wants to speak to me, but something—or someone—won’t let her. So, we just stare at each other, holding one another in place while neither one of us dares to talk. I’m afraid of scaring her away if I retreat to asking the same questions I asked when I first saw her, and she’s obviously fighting her own demons.

I cautiously jut my chin up, even afraid to move too much. “Did you... did you make it?”

She nods.

And just like that, she manages to conjure a smile on my face, probably the first smile ever since I woke up in that horrible basement.

“It was a great stew. Thank you,” I repeat, as the smile on my face broadens.

It’s such a small thing, a mere gesture, not even a word. But to me it means the world. Just a simple reciprocation, a sign that she sees me, that she hears me. I thought it was all I needed.

Until she opens her mouth and shakes my hopeful heart in a way I didn’t expect.

She’s smiling softly when she whispers, “You’ve always liked it.”

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