Chapter 5 - The First Step
Two weeks after her rescue, Brinley was finally cleared for discharge from the hospital. She had gained four pounds, but she was still dangerously frail.
I didn't take her back to my old apartment, and I certainly didn't let her near the Merritt house. I used a portion of my savings from my engineering job in Frankfurt to rent a small, sunlit cottage in a quiet town thirty miles outside of Dayton. It had a fenced backyard, big windows, and a massive oak tree that cast gentle shadows over the porch.
The first day in the house was terrifyingly quiet. Brinley stood in the center of her new bedroom, which I had painted a soft, warm lavender. She didn't touch the toys on the shelves. She didn't look at the beautiful canopy bed.
Instead, she dragged the mattress off the bed frame and pulled it into the furthest corner of the closet, sitting down on it with her knees pulled tightly to her chest.
My heart broke all over again, but Dr. Foss’s words echoed in my mind: Let her control her space. Do not force her into the open until she knows the open is safe.
I didn't try to pull her out. I brought my own pillow and blanket, sat on the floor just outside the open closet door, and opened a storybook.
"Once upon a time," I read aloud, my voice calm and steady, "there was a little bear who lived in a forest that felt too big and too dark. But the bear had a star in the sky that watched over her every single night, even when the clouds hid the light..."
May you like
I read for three hours. I didn't ask her for a hug, and I didn't ask her to speak. By the time the sun went down, I heard a tiny rustle from inside the closet.
Brinley had crawled to the edge of the doorway. She didn't come out, but she laid her small head against the doorframe, her eyes watching my face in the twilight. It wasn't a victory yet, but it was a crack in the ice.
