“Already know who you are,” she states flatly after releasing my hand.
“Be nice,” Theo hisses beside me.
Without looking at him, she holds her hand to her lower stomach, out of view of her mom and dad, and flips up her middle finger to him.
I can’t help the small bubble of laughter that leaves my lips, and I’m surprised when hers twitch with a small smile. I rub my lips together nervously and pick at the bottom on my shirt. “Are these your clothes?”
Her eyes run briefly over my shirt. “Yes.”
“Thank you for letting me borrow them.”
She jerks her head up, the motion resembling a nod, then turns on her heel to help her mom finish the sandwiches.
I blow out a breath and steady my racing heart. This is too much to take in all at once, and now I feel emotionally drained. I look over at Theo when he grabs my hand, and he offers a smile. My eyes move next to Wyatt, and he offers one as well. As I look around the kitchen, my kitchen, I can’t help but wish there was someone else here. Someone who oddly makes me feel safe just by being in the same room.
I STAND IN THE middle of little Aria’s bedroom as she enthusiastically shows me all her toys. The little girl is rambunctious and quite a handful, but she’s amazingly adorable. The last several hours, I’ve been unable to keep my eyes away from her. She’s very talkative, outgoing, and has such a sweet disposition, but she’s also blunt, unafraid to voice what’s going on in her mind. Most kids her age are shy around strangers, but not Aria. Theo informed me she turns seven in a few months. He also told me he explained my memory loss to the little tornado. That didn’t stop her from asking questions though. I felt helpless when some of them were ones I couldn’t answer.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Aria grabs my hand. “Come look at Molly’s house.”
We stop in front of a big doll house. It’s a beautiful structure that has a finished front with the back open, allowing Aria to move her dolls around. Looking inside, I see it’s filled with every piece of furniture imaginable.
“Wow. This is really neat,” I say, then get on my knees beside her.
She sets Molly down at the tiny kitchen table, then pushes a tiny plate in front of her.
“My uncle Luca made it for me,” she informs me.
“He did?” I ask in surprise. It must have taken him a long time to complete.
“Yep. I got it for my birthday last year. I asked Daddy for one, but he said we couldn’t afford it, so Luca made me one.”
At the mention of his name, my heart skips a beat. I haven’t seen him in over a week, and each night he hasn’t shown up, I’ve woken up scared. I don’t understand why he puts my fears to rest, but I miss the reprieve. I’m curious about his comment that there’re things I don’t know. When he spoke those words, his face was etched in pain. I want to ask Theo, but something tells me I shouldn’t.
Aria shifts beside me on her knees. I look down and see she’s holding Molly again and twisting the doll’s hair with her fingers. She took a bath earlier and water droplets from the ends of her hair soak the back of her gown. It’s a tangled mess, and I know it’ll be worse in the morning.
“Are you going to be nice to me?” Her voice quivers as she asks the question.
I’m momentarily stunned, but I quickly recover, wanting to immediately put her at ease.
“Of course I’ll be nice to you, Aria,” I tell her softly.
When she brings her eyes to me they look angry. The look is shocking coming from a girl her age.
“‘Cause sometimes Daddy brings home girls that aren’t very nice.”
Her words hurt, but not because Theo’s been with other women. I can’t really blame him. He’s been married to a woman who’s been in a coma for seven years. I wouldn’t expect him to stay faithful for that long. No, my discomfort is solely for Aria and the pain she must have endured from the other women. How anyone could be mean to such a sweet little girl is beyond me.
“Have any of them… hurt you?” I ask haltingly. “Have they put their hands on you?”
I hold my breath and wait for her answer.
Water slings from her hair and lands on my hand when she shakes her head. “No. They just say mean things sometimes when my daddy isn’t around.”
“Have you told your daddy?”
She grabs a little brush from the dollhouse and starts running it through Molly’s hair. “Yes, but he just says they don’t mean it.” She leans forward and lowers her voice, her nose wrinkling. “Sometimes I hear them in his bedroom. He thinks I’m asleep, but sometimes I hear the women yelling or crying.”
Revulsion twists my stomach. I want to reach out and pull her into my arms. I have no doubt in my mind the “crying” and “yelling” is Theo and whatever woman having sex. No child should hear