At first, I was terrified for my daughter.

Christine stands alone at the sink, finishing the last of the dishes, as her mind wanders to earlier that night. Everyone was sitting around their small table. A plate of lemon squares she had prepared earlier was currently being devoured by her guests, while the tea was kindly provided by Mrs. Carlyle.

Christine towels off her hands and walks back to the living room to rest in her spot on the sofa. She spent many nights here watching movies with Tyler. She reaches out, without needing to look, for a pillow and hugs it gently as her weight eases off her tired feet.

Hearing that she was bullied again, and so soon at the start of the year, was nothing compared to hearing that she had been hurt–.

“We don’t have the money to move, you see. And since the school you go to is based on your zip code, there’s not much I can do. It’s not like I can afford to send my daughter to a private school or get her a tutor.” Christine had a sip of her tea, and glances briefly at the last lemon square on the table, but diverts her gaze back to her guests.

Tyler was upstairs with Eris. Across from her sat Matthew, Art, and Cathy. “Honestly, I hate to talk about this at all. Finding out my daughter magically transformed one day is enough to send a parent into a worried fit; but then I hear she’s attached to a mythical being? It took all I had to just keep a brave face… Not like it lasted long once I heard she had been kidnapped.”

A warmth fills Christine’s hand, and she realizes she’s spilled some of her tea and places the shaking cup back onto the table. The act able to refocus her thoughts. It felt good to get these thorns out of her mind and onto a table, despite how raw it left her.

“After Charles passed, she’s kept to herself mostly. I was convinced her sadness had stemmed from that, but seeing how alive my daughter was that week, well, I was able to put every worry on the back burner. Why fret over something that caused so much relief for my child? She was so miserable before… I wish I could have paid more attention, if I didn’t have to work so much, maybe I–” the comforting hand of Mrs. Carlyle held her steady as she relieved the last of her thoughts. “Thank you, all of you, for everything you’ve done and helped with. Thank you for bringing my daughter back to me.”

She saw through the tears in her eyes that Art had taken the last of the lemon square and was eating it with gusto. The sight made her laugh through the pain and relieved even more of the weight that had been pressing down on her. Matthew looked over and scolded Art, but that just made Christine laugh more. “If there’s anything I could ever do to repay your help, please let me know.”

Matthew was the first to speak up, “There’s nothing to repay.”

“Yeah, and Art and I didn’t even do anything that special.” Replied Mrs. Carlyle. “Just a prayer is all”

“If there’s anything this last week has taught me,” Christine said, a smile lifting the last of the weight from her shoulders, “it’s that prayers might actually help.”

◊◊◊

The pillow gave Christine a bit of comfort from the cold in the living room. For probably the fifth time that day she glanced at the thermostat, it’s dull-white plastic taunting her with the promise of warmth.

She reached for the throw blanket instead. It didn’t help much.

Three steps sounded from her right, and she knew it was Eris before she even said anything. Only someone capable of teleportation could make it down those squeaky steps without making a sound until the final steps, and she realized that Eris was doing that for her benefit. If she just appeared wherever she wanted, Christine would be given quite a fright.

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“Eris? What can I do for you, honey?” Christine’s clear voice felt tired and not all that clear tonight.

The small blonde girl just shook her head and took a seat opposite of Christine. “I should be asking you if there’s anything I can do. Are you okay?”

Christine smiled at the girl. How can she be so down to earth? If even half of the things I know about her are true, she should be someone unreachable. “I will be.”

Silence filled the room, but was broken before it could sit down and put up its feet. “I offered Tyler this days ago, but she said I shouldn’t even talk to you about it. Something about how people who suddenly become well-off get lots of suspicious types hanging around? I’m not sure what she was talking about, to be honest. If it's bandits, there are ways to prevent that…”

“Eris, honey, what are you talking about?”

“I wanted to gift you a decent life. I can do it, you know.”

Christine nodded. When she went with Eris to the shop to get her a phone, she was more than a little surprised when the girl, who hadn’t even been awake for more than a week, suddenly pulled out a few hundred dollar bills. Even more surprising when those bills turned out to pass every kind of verification test the owner of the shop put them to, and he was still reluctant to finish the sale. Christine had been too flabbergasted at the time, her hand stuck halfway in her purse looking for her wallet she was sure she was going to need.

It’s not like the thought hadn’t crossed her mind, either. The apron hanging from the entryway to the house was like an albatross she had to wear as she endured humiliation after humiliation. None of her bosses were kind to her, and even less kind when she didn’t turn up for any of her shifts that weekend.

She already knew she was let go from all of them, she didn’t have to even call to ask.

“Honey, I couldn’t ask–”

“I’m not offering, I’m giving.” The young girl replied.

A sigh escaped her lips. A framed picture of a man in his early thirties sat upon the top of the television stand, and for the first time in years, Christine stared right at it.

She and Chuck were close, in the short time they had together. They were more than just friends, even in their early years they were each other’s confidant. And she always turned to his image whenever she felt trapped or unsure. She felt a little burst of confidence, having gone so long without confiding in him all this time. She really made it this far with her own two hands, didn’t she?

Christine looked back at her hands, her once smooth skin worn like old leather. A constant battle she gave up years ago. There's no amount of lotion or salves that can heal the skin after having to wipe so many tables down with industrial-strength cleaner every ten minutes. She felt the ravages of time catch up to her all at once, and felt the years of overwork deep in her bones. She'd worked so hard, given so much. Even now in the end she felt proud that she kept the waves of this world at bay for her child for so long.

But how much longer would she be able to?

“It’s weird to realize it’s been almost ten years.”

Eris turned her head, obviously confused at the response.

“Never mind,” Christine responded with a smile, still not looking up from her hands, “just old memories cropping up.”

She took a deep breath and one last look at her husband. He’d want this for them, right?

“Ok.”

◊◊◊

Christine sat at the end of the table, across from Tyler. The girl had bitten off too large a chunk of a pancake and was trying to swallow the bite whole. She smiled at the girl, the one she thought so differently of not so long ago. How quickly things change.

Tyler tried several more times to swallow until she gave up and downed the syrupy goodness with a heap of orange juice. Tyler then went back to cutting off an equally sized piece of pancake. Then again, maybe things hadn't changed so much after all? Christine looked back at her daughter, and a pang of guilt and loss crossed her heart and left her stranded, anxious to get back that feeling of contentment from just a minute ago. She had just realized that she couldn't see Charles in her anymore. In fact, she could only see a younger picture of herself, although with blonde hair instead of brown.

Internally, she apologized to her daughter and husband. It's not their fault she hasn't moved past that time in her life. Did she really work so hard for Tyler, or did she do it for herself? Another pang of guilt, subdued little by the coffee in her mug.

“Bye mom! I've gotta get to school.”

Before she could properly say goodbye to her daughter, she already had her backpack over her arm and flew out the door. Where does she get so much energy?

She looked back to the coffee in the cup, a sepia portrait of her own tired face looking back at her, upset by the steam coming off the rapidly cooling beverage.

Christine was so lost in her thoughts, that she didn't hear the door open again. Warmth filled her neck as her daughter had come back and given her a hug, with a kiss to match.

“Love ya!” She called.

And then she was gone again; but this time the demons that plagued her thoughts nowhere to be found.

The coffee was good.