Horrible Harper

Chapter One - Episode Two

Scene Five – Living Room,

Robert opened the door slowly, carrying a small box in his hand, inside of which he hid a gift he had long promised Harper. As he stepped into the house, a wide smile spread across his lips as he pulled out a small scooter, its shiny frame gleaming under the light. He had chosen the color carefully, knowing it would suit the little girl’s taste.

But the smile faded almost instantly. His eyes fell on Margaret and Harper, sitting together on the sofa. Margaret held the child tightly against her chest, as if she feared she might be snatched away at any moment. Their faces were shadowed with fear, their breathing unsteady, as though the echo of some terrifying event still lingered within the walls.

For a brief moment, Robert froze by the door, stunned by the unusual sight. He turned the key and closed the door gently behind him, then walked toward them with hesitant steps. He sat quietly beside them, placing the scooter at his feet, as if to say: Look… I brought you joy.

He reached out his hand softly toward the little one, his voice tinged with pleading:

— Come, Harper… look, I bought this for you. Go on, try it.

The girl hesitated for a moment, then slowly extended her hands. She took the scooter as though it were a precious treasure, and with small, quick steps, she disappeared into her room. A shy smile lingered on her lips, but the gift failed to completely lift the heavy cloud that weighed on the atmosphere.

Robert turned toward Margaret, his eyes searching her face for answers. He moved closer, laying his hand gently on her shoulder:

— What’s wrong, Margaret?

Her words came out broken, trembling with fear:

— Harper and I were playing ball outside the house… the ball rolled into the main road, and she ran after it before I could stop her. A speeding car almost hit her… Robert, I saw death rushing toward her. I saw it with my own eyes!

Tears streamed down her face, falling freely as she tried to suppress her sobs. Robert said nothing; instead, he stretched out his arms and pulled her close. He cupped her head gently in his hands and pressed her to his chest. Silence reigned between them, but his expression spoke volumes—sorrow, compassion, and gratitude all at once: sorrow for the terror his wife had endured, compassion for her trembling heart, and gratitude that divine providence had spared Harper from a fatal end.

In that moment, the house was no longer just walls and furniture—it became a fragile sanctuary holding the secrets of fear and survival. Beneath its roof, three hearts carried the weight of what had happened: Margaret trembling at the thought of loss, Robert growing more determined to protect them, and Harper—still oblivious that she had been only seconds away from death—clinging to her innocence, quietly absorbed in the joy of her new toy.

Scene Six – (The Birth of Charles)

The night was heavy, its hours crawling slowly inside Margaret and Robert’s bedroom. Everything was silent until the stillness was broken by a faint moan that quickly grew into a muffled cry. Robert opened his eyes at once and saw his wife sitting on the edge of the bed, her face drenched in sweat, her hands clutching her swollen belly as if trying to contain the storm raging inside her.

He sat up quickly, fear flickering in his eyes though he forced a trembling smile, whispering in a tone that was half-jest, half-dread:

— Is he planning to come now, that little rascal?

Margaret couldn’t answer. Instead, a piercing scream burst from her throat, shaking the wooden walls and filling the house with echoes of pain. Robert’s heart quivered—he felt, in that moment, that he was witnessing both a miracle being born and the shadow of possible loss.

Hours passed in agony until dawn arrived, carrying with it a fragile new life. Margaret, exhausted yet radiant, now sat upright on the bed with her newborn nestled against her chest. Her smile glowed with the triumph of motherhood as the baby latched to her breast, drinking his first nourishment, finding safety in her warmth.

On the threshold of the room stood Harper. Her wide eyes were fixed on the infant Charles, silently watching the tender scene. In her gaze there was both the innocence of a child and the faint stirrings of something she could not yet name—a sense that her world had already shifted.

Robert approached quietly from behind, placing his hand gently on her head. He felt the coolness of her skin, the stillness in her stance. Leaning down, he whispered with a gentle firmness:

— Come now, sweetheart. Go to your room.

Harper said nothing. She lowered her head in silence and retreated slowly, her small steps carrying with them the echo of that last look at the baby who had stolen all the light.

Robert entered the room and sat beside Margaret. He reached out to tickle Charles’s tiny fingers, and laughter slipped from his lips, soft at first, then fuller. Margaret, tired but joyful, joined him, and together their laughter rose, mingling with the newborn’s faint, gurgling sounds—the first fragile music of his life.

The room was filled with joy, yet something lingered in the air, unspoken and unshakable: Harper’s last gaze… a look far heavier than a child her age should ever carry.