Page 7 of Finders Keepers

The cartoon plays on, but Sophie’s attention starts to drift. She shifts against my side, fidgeting with Mr. Hoppy’s ears.

“Mommy, can I color?”

“Of course, baby.” I get up from the couch and walk over to our duffle bag by the door. The zipper makes a harsh sound in the quiet space as I open the front pocket where I’ve kept her art supplies. I pull out her well-worn coloring book and the box of crayons.

“Here you go, sweetie.” I hand them to her, and she slides down to sit cross-legged on the floor, using the coffee table. She opens the book to a half-finished picture of a unicorn and carefully selects a purple crayon.

“I need to use the bathroom real quick, okay? I’ll be right back.”

She looks up, her crayon pausing mid-stroke. “Promise?”

“Promise. I’m just going right there.” I point to the bathroom door, making sure she can see exactly where I’m going. “You keep coloring, and I’ll be right back”

She nods and returns to her coloring, her little tongue poking out in concentration as she works on filling in the unicorn’s hair.

I close the bathroom door quietly behind me.

The mirror above the sink reflects a stranger back at me. My eyes look hollow, and the yellowish-green bruise along my jawline stands out against my pale skin. I touch it gently, wincing at the tenderness. Matt’s rage, still marking me days later.

My throat tightens as I stare at myself. This woman in the mirror. This broken, running woman, I barely recognize her. Where did Bailey go? The girl who graduated with honors, who had plans, who laughed easily and trusted freely?

The weight of everything crashes down at once. The running. The fear. The constant looking over my shoulder. Dragging Sophie from the only home she’s known. Accepting charity from a stranger.

I clamp my hand over my mouth as the first sob escapes, muffling the sound so Sophie won’t hear. My legs give out, and I sink down onto the closed toilet lid, my body folding in on itself.

The tears come fast now, streaming down my face. I press both hands against my mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort to keep quiet as I break apart. The sobs rack my body.

I allow myself this moment, just this one moment, to feel everything I’ve been holding back. The terror when Matt’s face changed that night. The desperation as I packed our things while he was passed out drunk. The paralyzing fear during every mile of our drive south.

My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath between silent sobs. I rock slightly, arms wrapped around myself now, trying to hold the pieces together.

Sophie can’t see me like this. She needs me to be strong. To be whole. To know what to do next.

I press my palms against my eyes, willing the tears to stop. Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like the therapist once told me.

After a few minutes, I stand and splash cold water on my face.

I have to be strong.

“Sophie, baby, do you want to take a nap?” I call out as I step back into the living room, willing my voice to sound calmer than I feel. But the space she was just occupying is empty, her crayons and coloring book abandoned. “Sophie?”

My heart starts to race. “Sophie!” I check the kitchen, the bedroom, even look under the bed. “Baby, where are you?”

The front door is slightly ajar. Oh God. My chest constricts as I burst outside. “Sophie!” My voice breaks with panic as I spin around, scanning the yard.

“Mommy, over here!”

The relief nearly brings me to my knees. I follow her voice around the side of the house. And there she is, standing by the wooden white fence, her little hand reaching through to pet a beautiful light brown horse that’s leaned its head down to her level.

“Sophie Marie!” I rush over and scoop her up, holding her tight. “You scared me so bad. You can’t go outside without telling Mommy, remember?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her bottom lip trembling. “But Mommy, look. The horsie came to say hi to me.” The horse bobs it’s head up and down, making her giggle.

I’m still trying to calm my racing heart, but seeing the joy and smile on her face makes my heart constrict with every feeling imaginable. “She’s very pretty, but next time you have to ask before going outside, okay? Promise?”

“I promise.” She reaches for the horse again. “Can I keep petting her? Please?”

I hold her a second longer and then set her down and kneel next to her keeping my arm around her waist. “Okay, but be gentle.”

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