Age Four
Mama always says: Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And if you have to speak, keep it short.
So I don’t say a word.
The chair under me is too big. My legs swing but don’t touch the floor, and the edge of the seat bites the back of my knees. The room smells like old coffee and something sharp that makes my nose sting—like when Mama cleaned the bathroom. The walls are gray and the light buzzes overhead, a hungry bee trapped in the ceiling.
I keep my back straight and my hands folded, just like Mama taught me. A good girl looks neat, even when no one is watching.
Outside the door, I hear them. Grown-up voices, not whispering, just low and serious.
A man’s voice, deep and scratchy. “Found her in the alley between the convenience store and the post office. Just sitting there like she was waiting for something.”
A woman now, softer but sharper. “She told you she was left?”
“She said she was told to wait. That’s it. Then nothing. Won’t give me a name, won’t say who left her.”
“She’s only, what, four? Kids that age don’t clam up. They cry, they scream, they—”
“Not this one.” The man sounds puzzled. “Didn’t shed a tear. Just… calm. Smiling, even.”
I squeeze my hands tighter. They’re talking about me. Mama says eavesdropping makes you a bad girl. I don’t want to be bad. But I can’t shut my ears.
They don’t understand. Crying doesn’t fix anything. Mama says tears are for weak girls. Mama says only bad girls cry. And I’m not bad.
The door clicks open, and I glue a smile to my face, just like Mama says. Always smile at new people. They won’t suspect you. They’ll leave you alone.
A lady walks in, her shoes clicking on the shiny floor. She crouches down so her eyes meet mine. They’re soft eyes, but sharp too, like she can see things I don’t want her to.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Jane. What’s your name?”
I keep smiling. Mama told me never to tell strangers nothing. Not even my name.
“That’s alright,” Jane says gently. “Maybe you’re shy.”
She tries again. “Can you tell me how old you are?”
I widen my smile, even though my cheeks are starting to burn.
“Do you know where your mom and dad are?”
Her words poke at me, sharp like pins. My stomach twists. My mouth stays wide and bright. Smile, I have to Smile.
Jane tilts her head. “Hmm. You’ve been very brave, haven’t you?”
Behind her, a man leans in the doorway, arms folded. He’s the one who found me. His shirt smells like smoke when he moves closer.
“Told you,” he mutters. “She talks, but only a little. Maybe ten words total. Then she shuts down. Just sits there, grinning at us like a doll.”
Jane doesn’t look away from me. Her smile is small, but her eyes aren’t smiling. “We’ll get her to the hospital first, make sure she’s alright. No bruises I can see.” She stands, brushing her knees. “Then I’ll find her a foster placement tonight. Someone quiet, patient.”
The man shrugs. “Cute kid like her? If nobody claims her, she’ll be adopted quick.”
Jane presses her lips together. “We’ll see.”
I sit there, my smile stretching so wide it trembles. My teeth hurt from holding it. My throat feels tight, like I swallowed a stone.
I want Mama. I want her hand in mine, her voice telling me the rules again so I know what to do. I want her, even though she told me to wait and never came back.
But I don’t cry. Crying is for bad girls.
And I am not a bad girl.
