Here’s how it went.
I arrived fifteen minutes early; she arrived just on time.
She walked in, clad in her junior high school uniform, her jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail, though a few loose strands rebelliously framed her face. I sat waiting, my wine-red hair clipped up in a hibiscus flower claw clip, a quiet symbol of the woman she hadn’t yet imagined becoming. Her skirt was rolled up just a little too high — an unspoken act of defiance. Mine was a flowing maxi, a choice she wouldn’t understand yet.
But there she was, fourteen, scarred, scared, but here nonetheless.
She sat down across from me, wide-eyed and restless, fingers tapping anxiously against the table. She ordered a coffee, though I knew she hated the taste. I ordered tea.
She spoke quickly, like she was afraid she’d run out of time. Every word spilled out as if she had to overexplain everything, justify her existence, make sense of the pain she carried. She apologized — over and over — for things that were never her fault.
I spoke softly, carefully, knowing that in her world, words were rarely delivered with such hush and gentle tones.
She asked if we still lived alone.
“No,” I told her. “We’re safe now. We’re happy.”
The words felt foreign in my mouth, as if I were trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to comfort her. She studied me for a moment, as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth.
I finished my tea. Her coffee sat untouched, growing colder by the second.
When the bill came, I paid for both of us, though I knew she would have insisted on covering her own if she could. She always wanted to prove she could handle everything alone.
She excused herself, saying she had to leave, something about making dinner for herself. But I knew the truth. She needed to cry, but she wasn’t ready to break in front of me. Not yet.
As she stood up, she hesitated, turning back one last time.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely audible.
I looked at her — at me — at the girl who had carried the weight of a world she was never meant to bear.
“I’m sorry too,” I said, offering her a sad but reassuring smile.
She nodded, as if she finally understood.
She’s going to be okay.
