“We’re missing something.”
“Polly!” she screamed.
The little girl ran to her and clung to her legs. The woman dropped to her knees and gathered Polly up, pressing frantic kisses into the top of her hair. Then she looked up at us, at Mia, at the blanket, and I watched the truth arrange itself behind her eyes.
“Oh no,” the woman whispered.
“You’re her mother?” Dana asked.
“Yes. I’m Marisol. I’m Mia’s nanny.”
Mia looked from her to me and said quietly, “You left me, Miss Marie?”
“You’re her mother?”
Marisol’s eyes filled. “I only went to the pharmacy nearby, sweetie. Polly was burning up, my mother was out of town for a funeral, and I had no one else. I brought her with me. Since you were already asleep in your room, I told Polly to stay in the kitchen. She can’t talk, she uses sign language, so I thought she’d stay put. I told her I’d be right back.”
“And your daughter wandered upstairs,” Luis said.
Marisol covered her mouth. The explanation came fast, but it didn’t erase the fact that both children had been alone.
I turned to her. “You left two children alone in this house.”
Marisol’s eyes dropped. “I know… I’m sorry. The pharmacy was just on the next block, and I thought I’d be back before Mia even noticed I was gone.”
“You left two children alone in this house.”
“Do you understand what could have happened here?” I snapped.
Tears gathered in her eyelashes. “Yes.”
Behind me, Mia said softly, “I thought someone bad was under my bed.”
Marisol looked at her, stricken. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Once Polly’s medicine was down, the rest came together in careful pieces.
Polly had wandered upstairs after spotting Mia’s dolls. When Mia stirred in bed, Polly panicked and hid. Mia woke, dropped her teddy, bent to grab it, and saw a pair of eyes looking back at her from the dark.
“I thought someone bad was under my bed.”
Mia searched for Marisol first, going room to room through the empty house. Then she remembered something her father had told her after a break-in in the neighborhood:
“If you’re scared and you need help fast, you call 911.”
So she did.
I looked at that little girl and felt something like respect settle in my chest. Mia was just five years old, alone, and terrified. And she still acted.
I crouched in front of Mia. “You did everything right tonight.”
Her lip trembled. “Really?”
“Really. Because you made that call, both you and Polly are safe.”
Mia was just five years old, alone, and terrified.
She stared at me. “I thought maybe I’d get into trouble.”
“No,” I said. “You were smart.”
Marisol cried quietly at that, probably from relief, shame, or both.
I asked for Mia’s parents’ numbers and made the call. They were home within half an hour.
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