Today, I decided it would be the most beautiful day in the world.
I woke up with the sun cracked open in the sky like a golden yolk spilled on silk. It was warm beneath the blanket.
The air smelled like eggs, butter, and Milo's morning grumble echoing from the kitchen.
I like when he grumbles—it means he's here.
— "Up and at 'em, sleepy marmot!"
Always the same line. I smiled into my pillow. My stuffed toy pressed close to my chest.
I slipped into my white dress—the one Milo calls "the dress for days that matter."
I brushed my hair the way he taught me. Even if it tugged a little. I looked into the mirror and whispered :
— "Today, I'll make you proud, Milo."
At breakfast, I ate everything. The chocolate, the eggs—even the burnt edge.
He pretended to grumble, but I know he was happy.
— "What do you want for your gift tomorrow ?" he asked.
— "I want you to let me surprise you," I replied.
He raised an eyebrow. Then smiled. Milo rarely smiles. So when he does, it's like winning a battle with the devil.
I walked to school on my own. Sometimes, I do that. Milo hates it, but I like how it makes me feel older.
Today, I wanted to buy something with my own coins.
I had taken them—just a few—from his button jar. He never noticed.
I bought a bracelet. Cheap plastic, white, with a dove-shaped bead.
— "It's for my dad," I told the shopkeeper.
She asked if he was Milo. She said he was strange, but he loved me deeply. I said,
— "He's the kindest monster I know."
In the afternoon, I drew a theme park.
And I thought, maybe someday, we'll go together. A real one—not just pictures on the TV.
I'd tell him, "Look, there are rides. No ox blood in sight." He'd laugh. Maybe.
Or maybe he'd cry. Milo cries in secret, when he thinks I'm asleep.
He murmurs names I don't know.
I think he's scared of love. Scared it always leaves.
But I stayed.
Even when he screamed.
Even when he punched the wall and it trembled.
Even when he bled from smashing the mirror.
He knelt before me once and said, "I don't deserve to live with you."
And I replied, "Then live for me."
That night, I came home late. I wanted the surprise to be real.
I took a shortcut. An alleyway. Someone said, "Hey, little one." I didn't answer.
Another asked, "Want some candy ?"
I ran.
I slipped.
And then—I woke up in darkness. My wrists were bound. My heart beat too fast. Cold crept in. I screamed. Again and again.
But no one came.
I think I cried. Or maybe not. Maybe I just waited.
I told him to live for me. Now, he has no reason to live unless he chooses to forget.
Then a man came. His cologne was too strong.
He spoke like he was kind. But he wasn't. He said I was "special." Said he'd make me an actress.
I bit him.
He hit me.
And I dreamed I could fly.
Later, I remember… Puck Land. A fake carnival.
People, music too loud, and muffled cries behind the walls.
I think I died there.
Or maybe… a little earlier. When I realized no one would ever hear me.
If I stayed, Milo would have suffered longer.
And yes—he did forget me. But I'm still waiting for my lullaby.
Please… tell him I wasn't afraid at the end.
Tell him I flew away.
With the monster-eyes from my dream.
And his arms catching me.
∞
In the morning, he wore the apron again. Cooked eggs, brewed coffee, warmed the chocolate.
— "Up, marmot!" he called. "Last day before the fair!"
No answer.
He entered the room.
Sophia was gone.
Not in bed. Not beneath the covers. Not in the bathroom.
Not anywhere.
Something cracked inside him. An ice-thread through the chest.
He saw the window—left ajar. On the dust of the windows, a tiny footprint.
And on the table : a note in a rushed scrawl.
"Went to get your surprise for tomorrow. Don't worry, Daddy. I love you."
And so, Milo stood still.
And he trusted Sophia.
She would come back.
Wouldn't she ?