The Scavenger Hunt
1292 Words
By the time the SUV that picked Lila up pulled into the long driveway, I’d already glanced at the clock ten times. I tried not to look too eager, I mean, it wasn’t like I was waiting for a celebrity to arrive. But something about Lila tugged at me, something soft, something fragile, something that made me want to… protect her. Understand her.
I hurried downstairs just as the door opened and her tiny figure stepped in. She still wore her blue-and-white private school uniform, pleated skirt, little blazer, and socks folded neatly above the ankle. She looked like a doll, delicate and heartbreakingly serious for someone her age.
Beth, ever gentle, greeted her with a warm smile. “Welcome home, Miss Lila.”
Lila nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
No excitement. No chatter. No spark.
That wasn’t how a five-year-old should come home from school. And I was determined, absolutely determined, to change it.
I crouched down to her level as she approached the hallway.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said softly. “How was school today?”
She shrugged, eyes down, hands gripping the straps of her tiny backpack.
Still closed off. Still distant.
“Let’s get you changed, okay?” I offered.
She nodded without a word and followed me to her room.
Inside, everything was pristine, too pristine. A little pink bed, untouched stuffed animals lined in perfect order, books arranged alphabetically. It looked more like the showroom of a children’s furniture store than a little girl’s world.
She stood quietly as I knelt and began unbuttoning her blazer.
“You can lift your arms,” I whispered.
She did, slowly, hesitantly, carefully. Always careful. As if afraid to disturb the air around her.
When her uniform was off, she changed into soft pink play clothes I’d placed on her bed earlier. I brushed her dark hair gently, detangling it with slow, soothing strokes. Her shoulders gradually relaxed, her breathing softened, and I felt her leaning ever so slightly into the touch.
It warmed my chest in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
When I finished, I set the brush down and smiled at her.
“So… I was thinking,” I began, keeping my voice light, “maybe we could play a game today.”
Her head snapped up a little. Not much, but enough.
“A game?” Her voice was small, uncertain.
“Yes. A fun one.” I tapped the tip of her nose playfully, but she didn’t react, just blinked at me, wary. “It’s called a scavenger hunt.”
She blinked again.
I could tell she didn’t understand what that meant. Or maybe no one had ever played games with her like that.
I softened my tone, kneeling so we were at eye level. “It means… I hide clues around the house, and you follow them. And at the end,” I lowered my voice as if telling her a secret, “there’s a treasure box waiting.”
That got her.
A tiny spark, a shimmer of interest, lit in her eyes.
“Treasure?” she whispered, almost as if afraid to hope.
“Yes,” I said. “A real one. Just for you. If you want to play.”
She swallowed. “I have to do my homework.”
My heart squeezed.
Of course. That sounded exactly like a rule Dr. Stoneheart would drill into her.
“I know,” I said gently. “And you will. But your dad isn’t home yet, and he won’t be for a little while. We can finish your homework long before he gets back. I promise.”
She hesitated, conflicted. Wanting to say yes, but afraid.
So I leaned in a little. “It’s okay it will be, just for a little while.”
Another pause.
Another heartbeat.
And then—
“Okay,” she whispered.
My smile almost burst out of me. “Okay. Then let the adventure begin.”
I’d already set everything up earlier, just in case she’d agree. So I led her to the first clue, a paper star taped behind her bedroom door.
“What’s that?” she asked, voice hushed like we were in a museum.
“That,” I said dramatically, “is your first clue.”
She took it carefully, reading the simple sentence I’d written:
“Where do flowers go when they’re thirsty?”
She frowned in concentration. It was adorable.
“The… the garden?” she guessed.
“Yes!” I clapped softly. It startled her at first, so I lowered the energy immediately. “Great job. Let’s go check.”
We slipped outside together. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the sprawling garden, blooming with roses, lavender, and things I didn’t even know the names of. She walked slowly, hands clasped in front of her, so dainty it made my chest ache.
The next clue rested on the rim of the stone fountain.
She plucked it up, eyes brightening a little more.
“Something soft, something white, where you go to sleep at night.”
She whispered, “My bed.”
“Lead the way, brave treasure hunter.”
For the first time since I met her, her lips curled upward. Not a full smile, but the beginning of one.
A bloom.
We returned to her room, and she found the third clue tucked under her pillow. She read it out loud, voice gaining tiny threads of confidence.
“The place where toys rest, waiting for fun.”
She pointed to her toy trunk, rushed over, and opened it, now eager, now lighter.
Inside lay the treasure box.
A small wooden chest I had painted earlier with flowers and tiny stars.
She approached it slowly, as if afraid it might disappear if she blinked.
“Go on,” I whispered. “Open it.”
Her hands trembled as she lifted the lid.
Inside: was Mood-stickers with little emotions—happy, sad, scared, excited, A drawing book labeled “Lila’s Feelings” Glitter pens, A bubble gun shaped like a unicorn, A sheet of star stickers, A small note from me: “You don’t have to say how you feel. You can show me.”
Her breath hitched.
For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
I worried I’d messed up.
Then, slowly, her fingers grazed the mood stickers.
A tiny, fragile, precious smile appeared.
A real one.
A heartbreaking one.
“Can we… try it?” she whispered. “The bubble gun?”
I nodded, fighting the sudden sting in my eyes. “Yes. Of course.”
We stepped into the hallway. She pressed the button, and bright, shimmering bubbles burst into the air. They floated around her, catching the light, filling the cold, silent corridor with magic it probably hadn’t seen in years.
She laughed.
A soft, surprised, beautiful laugh.
My heart nearly broke in half.
She chased a few bubbles, tentative at first, then with growing delight. For the first time, she moved like a child. Like someone who wasn’t afraid of being scolded for existing. She looked back at me, eyes glowing.
“Callie…”
Her voice shook.
“I like this game.”
“I like playing it with you,” I whispered.
She took a small step forward… then another… and gently slipped her tiny hand into mine.
As if trusting me.
As if choosing me. And in that moment, everything inside me changed. This wasn’t just a job. This wasn’t just a lonely child. This was something deeper, something fate-shaped.
A connection I didn’t understand yet, but felt everywhere.
And I would fight for that smile.
Even if it meant disobeying Dr. Stoneheart’s entire rulebook.
Especially if it meant that.
- Writer
