Chapter 12 - Every Chair Is Yours
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Three weeks later, Emma was officially discharged from the hospital.
I didn't take her back to my parents' house, and I didn't go back to the suburban townhouse I had previously shared near them. I broke my lease, packed our belongings into a moving truck, and rented a small two-bedroom apartment on the far north side of the city.
The apartment wasn't fancy. The kitchen was narrow, the floorboards creaked, and the bedroom windows overlooked a quiet parking lot.
But it was ours. It was safe.
On our very first morning in the new apartment, I woke up before sunrise. I stood in the small kitchen, listening to the gentle hum of the refrigerator, making a batch of fresh pancakes.
A few minutes later, I heard tiny footsteps shuffling down the hallway.
Emma walked into the kitchen wearing her purple pajamas, dragging her stuffed rabbit by one ear. The white bandages had been removed from her face, leaving a pale pink scar along her cheekline that the doctor said would fade over time.
She stopped at the edge of the kitchen, looking nervously at the small wooden dining table.
There were only two chairs at the table.
"Mommy?" Emma asked softly, her voice timid.
"Yes, my sweet girl?" I smiled, setting down the spatula.
She pointed a tiny, trembling finger toward the table. "Which chair is mine?"
My heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
For a terrifying second, I was dragged right back to my mother's kitchen. The smell of butter. The black pan. My daughter lying unconscious on the cold floor because she had sat in the "wrong" chair.
I walked across the room, dropped to my knees in front of her, and took her small hands in mine.
"Emma," I said clearly.
She looked at me, waiting.
I pointed toward the table. "Every single chair in this house is yours."
She blinked, looking confused. "All of them?"
"All of them," I promised.
She looked at the chairs, then back at me, her little brow furrowing. "What if... what if somebody gets mad?"
I swallowed back my tears, holding her tight. "Then they can leave."
Emma stared at me for a long moment. Then, a tiny, genuine smile broke across her face.
She trotted over to the first chair, climbed up, then climbed down, moved to the second chair, and sat down with a giggly splash.
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"I'm sitting here today!" she declared happily.
"An excellent choice, my princess," I laughed, serving her a pancake shaped like a crooked heart.
