CHRISTIANNA

"Ribbons and Resolutions"

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Rebecca had been up since before dawn. The house felt different this morning — bright, expectant. It was Anne’s first day of school. A milestone. A beginning. She moved through the kitchen in a rhythm, humming softly as she arranged toast on a platter, lined mugs on the counter, and fluffed the throw pillows that didn’t need fluffing.

She caught her reflection in the oven door. Lipstick slightly too bright. She left it.

The hallway creaked, followed by the dull thump of slippers. Marcus walked in, half awake, rubbing his eyes.

“Have you seen Anne’s timetable?” Rebecca asked as she poured hot water into the teapot.

He yawned. “Next to the fruit bowl. She’s not even downstairs yet.”

“She will be. Don’t jinx it.” She tried to keep her tone light, but her fingers tugged at the edge of the dish towel too tightly.

A voice echoed from the hallway.

“Mummy, do rabbits have toothbrushes?”

Rebecca grinned. “Marcus, your son is deep in conversation with wildlife.”

“Technically,” Marcus replied, “he’s asking a biological question.”

“Brush again, Marcel!” she called out.

“I did already!”

“Your breath says otherwise!”

Marcus smirked. “He’s getting clever.”

“He’s always been clever. He just likes being ridiculous.”

Her phone rang, buzzing across the counter. The name lit up instantly.

Rebecca answered with a soft laugh. “Vincent.”

“Mmm,” came the reply, smooth as always, “still the sweetest voice this side of Lagos. Morning, darling sister.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You on your way?”

“Already halfway there. Light traffic, playlist fire, and vibes are immaculate. How’s Her Highness? Is Anne up?”

“Not yet. But close. I heard a floorboard shift.”

“And how’s my little knight?”

Marcel appeared just then in the doorway, holding a half-buttoned shirt and a toothbrush like a sword. “Is that Uncle Vincent?”

Rebecca covered the mouthpiece. “No, love, you can’t talk now. He’ll be here soon. Just get dressed.”

Vincent chuckled. “Still no phone privileges? Brutal.”

“He’ll survive.”

“Tell him I’m bringing something sweet. Maybe biscuits. Maybe a small animal.”

“No puppies, Vincent.”

“Fine. Just the biscuits.”

Rebecca laughed. “Drive safe.”

“I always do.”

She ended the call just as footsteps creaked on the stairs. She turned, eyes already brimming.

Anne stood at the base of the staircase, back straight, face still. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Her uniform — a clean navy blazer and pleated skirt — fit her like second skin. The cream blouse beneath was tucked with military precision, and the navy tie sat snug against her collarbone. Her shoes gleamed, black leather spotless. White cotton socks framed her ankles. Her hair, pulled into a soft puff, was neatly styled — bare, unadorned, effortless.

Rebecca’s breath caught.

“You look… stunning.”

Anne glanced down at herself. “Thanks.”

“You sure you don’t want breakfast? Toast? Maybe a little tea? I can even make that lemon thing you like.”

“No, thank you.”

“Your uncle’s on the way. He’s excited to see you. He asked about you first thing.”

Anne gave a small nod.

“The school has a really good record. Their science lab is fantastic, and the music teacher is from France. You love music, don’t you?”

Anne tilted her head. “I guess.”

Rebecca reached out, brushed an invisible wrinkle from her blazer. “You’re going to be amazing. And you look it.”

Anne let out a quiet, almost imperceptible breath. Not annoyance. Just… quiet.

The doorbell rang.

Rebecca turned, startled. “That must be—oh!”

It was Samantha.

“Morning!” she said with a warm smile.

“Samantha, dear. Come in. You’re early.”

“Better than late.”

Marcel bounded toward her. “Sam-an-tha!”

She knelt, letting him throw his arms around her. “That’s because I had three slices of toast before seven,” she laughed, smoothing his hair.

Marcus appeared in the hallway, nodding his usual soft greeting. “Morning.”

“Morning, sir,” she replied.

The moment felt comfortably full—like everything in the house was aligning into motion. It was only Anne who remained still, seated neatly by the door, gaze distant but alert, like she was listening without wanting to.

The doorbell rang again.

Samantha was closest, so she opened it.

And there he was.

The man standing on the porch looked like he’d been sculpted by charm and confidence. His shirt—immaculate white—fit perfectly against his build, hinting at muscle without showing off. He had skin smooth like polished wood, a subtle shine in his eyes, and a trimmed beard that made him look just the right amount of serious. His smile came slowly, but it landed all at once.

“You must be Samantha,” he said, voice low and even.

Her grip on the door handle tightened for a moment. “And you must be Vincent. Heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” he said, leaning slightly forward, tone playful. “I hope only the dangerous parts.”

She smiled back, poised. “Wouldn’t know. No one told me whether you were a charmer or a menace.”

Their eyes locked—for a second longer than it should have taken. A pause. Warm, but uncertain. Something flickered there, not loud, but noticeable. He was looking at her like he was seeing her. Not just her face. Her.

And then it was gone.

Rebecca’s voice called out from the living room, shattering the moment. “Vincent! Come in already! You’re letting in the flies!”

Vincent stepped in, and the shift was immediate. Marcel ran at him like a bullet.

“Uncle Vince!” he shouted, arms flailing.

Vincent caught him midair. “Marcel the Marvelous! Look at you, taller already. Been stretching in your sleep?”

“I drink juice every day,” Marcel said proudly.

“Clearly. Must be magic juice.”

He carried the boy with one arm and fished into his bag with the other. “And now for the royal gift.”

Anne watched as he knelt in front of her and opened a small satin box.

Inside: soft sky-blue ribbons and a thin silver pin.

“I thought your hair looked perfect,” Vincent said, voice soft now, for her alone. “But sometimes, a little color makes people notice what’s already beautiful.”

She didn’t speak, but didn’t pull away as he reached up gently and tucked the ribbons into her puff, arranging it without a word. The silver pin went just above her ear.

Rebecca stood in the doorway, arms crossed, lips parted. “She let you,” she whispered.

Marcus looked over. “He’s the only one she lets.”

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The ride to school began with low music and the hum of city sounds outside the windows. Anne sat in the front seat, her bag in her lap, the scent of leather and air freshener coiling around her. Marcel sang quietly in the backseat, blending made-up words with a familiar cartoon theme.

“Uncle Vince,” Anne said after a few blocks, her voice soft but clear. “Will you teach me to drive someday?”

He glanced sideways. “You want to learn?”

“Yes.”

“Driving takes patience, coordination, and nerves of steel.” He smirked. “Are you telling me you’ve got all that?”

She shrugged. “Maybe two out of three.”

“Guess we’ll test that soon. First lesson: don’t talk back to your instructor.”

Anne smiled faintly and looked out the window.

Marcel chimed in. “I want to learn too!”

“You can drive a scooter,” Vincent replied. “On weekends. With training wheels.”

“You’re just scared I’ll drive better than you!”

Vincent laughed, tapping the steering wheel. “Kid’s got spirit.”

A soft silence settled between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt… shared.

Vincent’s tone shifted, casual but deliberate. “You know… trying new things is never comfortable. But that’s where all the fun starts. Outside comfort.”

Anne blinked, processing.

It was said to both of them—but Anne felt it hit her like a light on a door she hadn’t noticed. She turned to look at him, not sure if he’d meant it the way she received it.

He kept his eyes on the road, smiling faintly.

“Mum said the uniform looked nice,” Anne said after a while.

“She was right.”

“I feel like I look strange.”

“You look like a future valedictorian. With flair.”

Anne tugged at the hem of her skirt. “I don’t know.”

Vincent glanced her way. “You’ll grow into the confidence. Sometimes the outside gets it first.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What do you think of Samantha?” he asked.

Anne shrugged. “She’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

“She’s firm. She doesn’t smile too much.”

“She’s probably thinking too much. People who think a lot smile less.”

Marcel jumped in, loudly, “She’s the best! She makes good toast and smells like vanilla and makes my socks match!”

Vincent chuckled. “Sounds like a superhero.”

Anne didn’t say anything, but she didn’t argue either.

---

The car slowed in front of the school gate, and Anne sat up straighter.

The school was enormous.

At least to her eyes — which had only known garden paths and small family libraries.

The gates were metallic silver, flanked by two tall palm trees that swayed lightly in the breeze. Beyond them, the school building stretched long and wide — three stories high, painted in calm earth tones with white framed windows and blue roofing. The compound was divided by winding walkways, patches of green, and tall glass windows that reflected the rising sun.

Students were everywhere. Some wore uniforms just like hers; others had slightly different badges and ties. They moved in groups — laughing, rushing, leaning against walls. Books clutched to chests. Earbuds in. The air was filled with chatter, footsteps, and car engines pulling away.

Anne stared, a weight pressing against her chest that wasn’t panic — but wasn’t ease, either.

Marcel leaned forward. “Looks big.”

Anne nodded.

Vincent cut the engine.

“You ready?”

“No.”

“Perfect,” he said, and opened the door.

Anne stepped out slowly, backpack slung over one shoulder, her ribbon slightly tilting in the breeze. A group of girls nearby turned to glance at her, whispering.

She didn’t look back.

She touched the silver pin in her hair and walked forward — slowly, but forward all the same.

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