Green

I love my daughter more than anything in this world. She is beautiful, with a heart of gold that seems to grow with each passing day. She has always had an innate sense of right and wrong, leaving small coins for homeless people as she passed them, or picking up empty beer cans with her tiny hands to throw them in the bin. The world needs more people like her, and I would do anything to keep my snowflake safe. Though I must admit, since the car crash one year ago, I’ve become more overprotective than I care to admit. I see dangers lurking around every corner, haunted by the memory of the drunken driver who almost took her from me.

Sometimes, I have nightmares of my little girl standing in front of me, with tears of blood rolling down her pale cheeks, her head tilted to the side as though it had nearly snapped in half during the crash. She always says, “No, Mommy, it's not right, Mommy.” After she utters those words, I usually wake up with my own cheeks wet. My snowflake is correct, though. What I see in those dreams isn’t real, and it’s not right. She is alive, and I know she will grow up to be the incredible woman I envision, whether that’s a future astronaut or a high-powered executive. One day, I’ll stand proudly beside her, cheering, “That’s my little girl.”

Putting down the multiple plastic bags I had brought back from the grocery store, I rolled my shoulders with a sigh of relief after carrying so much weight following a long day at work. Luckily, my new job wasn’t as demanding as my old one, and I could work shorter hours, allowing me to come home earlier to my little snowflake, who was probably waiting impatiently for me to enter the house. Around my neck was a small silver chain holding the two keys for the double locks of the house. Once my daughter got older, I would give her one too, but not yet. She needed to earn my trust first.

As the door slid open, I was greeted by my favorite decoration. I had turned all the pictures of my little girl into wallpaper, so her beautiful face could always be seen. It was good for her confidence, so she could see the beauty I saw when I looked at her. She was gorgeous, with thick, brown curly hair, round cheeks, and her eyes, like her father's, were deep, chocolate brown. I loved her eyes the most. A few of the photos showed her in that lovely red dress she wore for her last beauty pageant. I remembered how proud I was of her that day, her confidence shining so brightly.

But since the horrible accident, everything had changed, especially her. She had lost weight, becoming thinner and more fragile, and with that, the spark in her eyes had dimmed. Her bold, outspoken nature had been replaced by quiet, shy glances. Still, I believed time and love would bring back the daughter I once knew. I would be patient and rebuild her personality, piece by piece, until she was strong again.

The overexcited voices of cartoon characters came from the TV room. When I entered the living room, I felt a twinge of frustration as I saw her curled up on the couch, focused on the TV. I turned it off with a firm click and told her she should be practicing her speech. Even though we no longer participated in beauty pageants, I didn’t want her to lose her ability to perform. Public speaking was an essential skill, and I was determined that she would excel at it. Since the accident, I had chosen to homeschool her, hoping to shield her from the cruelties of the outside world. But I knew I couldn’t keep her hidden forever. With enough training, I believed she would be ready to return to school and social life by next year.

She looked up at me with soft, almost distant eyes, as if my words barely reached her. I sighed. It had been hard for her lately. I reminded myself again to push down my frustration. The bunny incident had worsened her mood. I blamed myself for that. I should have been more careful, should have kept an eye on her when she took the bunny outside to play in the snowy field behind the house. But I had been caught up on the phone with my mother, answering her repetitive questions about my daughter. Dementia had hit my poor mother too early in life. She always asked about our new home address, but I couldn’t risk giving it to her. With her memory loss, I would have to repeat it over and over again, or she would write it down, and bad people could find out where my daughter and I lived.

I had warned my snowflake, though, that something like this would happen if she went outside alone. Bunnies get hurt if they leave the house, especially without adult supervision. I promised her we’d get another pet after some time had passed, but I knew I had to be firm. This needed to be a lesson well learned. Next time, I would get her something bigger, something that couldn’t be taken outside without my knowing. Maybe a guard dog, one that could protect her, not only from wandering off but also from strangers. That idea made me feel better than getting another fragile bunny, knowing she would have an extra layer of security as well. A dog could be trained to follow my orders strictly.

As I laid out the ingredients for dinner, I realized I had forgotten one key item for the salsa. I sighed, slipping my jacket back on, when I noticed her peeking around the corner into the kitchen. Her eyes met mine, and I softened.

"Would you like to come with me to the store?” I asked, a warm smile creeping onto my face. I knew she hated being alone in the house when I wasn’t there. That’s probably why she had distracted herself with cartoons earlier. If I let her get a bit of fresh air with me, maybe she’d be motivated to continue working on her speech.

Her eyes lit up at the suggestion, as I knew they would, and she nodded eagerly. She sat down on the wooden stool, knowing the protocol for going out required her to sit still while I dressed her properly. I helped her into her jacket, too big for her, so her hands disappeared into the fabric, but better oversized than too small. I wrapped her scarf snugly around her face, covering her lips and cheeks from the cold. I put her hair into a high bun and slipped her hat over it so none of her hair would get frozen or wet. The hat was pulled low, covering her ears. There was no way the cold would touch my little girl. All of her clothes were for boys since my new job didn’t pay as well as my old one, so she got secondhand items that were black and covered in Batman logos. Her shoes were for boys too and a bit too big, but I made sure to put on multiple layers of socks to protect her small feet.

“All set,” I said, more to myself than to her. She looked more like a small five-year-old boy than a seven-year-old girl, and that always made me smile.

“Hold my hand tightly,” I said, and we set off, just two blocks to the store. I held her hand firmly as we crossed the street, the chilly wind nipping at our faces. We greeted the neighbors as we passed, everyone smiling kindly. It was a small town where everyone knew each other, and I guessed they wanted to try to get to know me as well. They shouldn’t bother, my precious little girl and I never stayed in one place for too long.

I still had a nagging feeling like I had missed something important.

At the store, I let her pick out a treat as a reward for being so good. Her favorite had always been chocolate cake, but today, she chose something different, a flavor she never used to like. I frowned slightly, disliking the small changes I was noticing. Change meant she was growing up, and I wasn’t ready for that. I also made sure to keep her away from the newspapers. There was no reason for her to see the story about the young girl who had vanished from the shopping mall. My sensitive snowflake had already cried her eyes out when the girl had appeared on milk cartons. Red hair, freckles, and emerald green eyes, a nice, sweet-looking kid, but not as beautiful as my snowflake, of course.

I had heard it so many times, parents, exhausted from working multiple jobs, somehow left one of their kids behind at the mall. When they realized, they rushed back, sobbing and frantic.

Stupid people, I thought. How could they be so careless? Children are precious. I could have lost my own daughter in that car crash. I could have been the one identifying her mangled body at the coroner’s office. I could have buried her in a tiny white coffin, crying my eyes out, wishing for one more glimpse of her beautiful brown eyes. And yet these parents, negligent and disgusting, dared to forget their own daughter in a public mall. Unbelievable.

The anger welled up inside me, and without realizing it, I gripped my daughter’s small hand too tightly. She winced, and I quickly let go, kneeling down to her level to apologize.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said gently, smiling as I adjusted her turtleneck to cover her cheeks even more. “Warm and cozy, right?”

She didn’t say anything, only gave that same blank, distant gaze. I followed her eyes and saw that she was watching the butcher cutting ham. I sighed. I’d have to get her another pet soon. Children could hold grudges longer than I liked. Again, that nagging feeling of forgetting something returned, gnawing at my stomach as we walked to the checkout. I looked through my pocket, house key, wallet, everything seemed to be in place. What was it I had forgotten?

As we approached the cashier, the woman behind the counter leaned forward with a kind smile, looking at my precious snowflake.

“What a pair of beautiful green eyes you have,” she said warmly, not knowing that her words brought a chill to my body.

Fuck.

I had forgotten the contact lenses.