Chapter 15 - The Stuffed Rabbit's Lesson
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Months turned into a year.
Emma started attending weekly pediatric play therapy to process the trauma. Children have a remarkable, incredible capacity to heal, but the emotional scars of abuse run deep.
There were nights when a sudden thunderstorm would wake her up screaming, convinced the loud thunder was the metallic crash of the pan. There were mornings when she would freeze near the kitchen counter if I accidentally dropped a spoon.
Every single time, I dropped whatever I was doing, knelt beside her, and held her until her heart stopped racing.
"You are safe, Emma," I would repeat like a mantra. "Nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
One afternoon, while I was folding laundry in the hallway, I overheard Emma playing in her bedroom.
I peeked through the cracked door. She had lined up all her stuffed animals in a circle on her rug. She was holding her stuffed rabbit, setting it down gently in a small red toy chair.
"You can sit anywhere you want," Emma told the rabbit in a serious, gentle voice. "You don't have to be scared of taking anybody's place. Every chair is yours."
I leaned against the doorframe, tears rolling down my face.
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They weren't tears of horror or grief anymore. They were tears of pure, overwhelming hope.
My daughter was re-writing her story. She was taking the dark, violent lesson her aunt had tried to teach her and replacing it with unconditional love and safety.
