11. Cherise
Chapter eleven
Cherise
Ayear after Mommy went to heaven, the house felt cold.
It wasn’t because the air was cold, Daddy kept forgetting to pay the electric bill, but because he wasn’t there anymore.
Not really. His eyes were empty. His hugs disappeared. His voice turned aggressive.
There were bottles everywhere. Glass ones that clinked when he kicked them in the dark.
Chelsea and I learned how to be quiet.
Quiet kept him calm.
Quiet kept us safe.
Most nights, I made us cereal for dinner. I carried a chair to the counter so I could reach the bowls. Chelsea sat at the table, swinging her tiny legs, her belly poking out under her T-shirt.
“Are we having cereal again?” Chelsea asked.
“Yeah,” I said, pouring milk carefully.
“It’s the fancy kind.”
It wasn’t. It was stale.
But she giggled anyway.
When Daddy stumbled into the kitchen, eyes red and glassy, he yelled when he saw the mess.
“What did I say about touching things in my kitchen?!” he said, voice slurred.
Chelsea flinched so hard the spoon fell from her hand.
I put my arm around her and held her still. Mommy told me to always take care of her.
So, I did.
A few weeks later, everything changed.
The after-school bus dropped me off at Chelsea’s daycare like always. I expected to see her building block castles or coloring outside the lines. Instead, she stood by the front desk, backpack on, clutching her stuffed lamb.
There were two police officers beside her.
Her eyes were wide. Wet.
The kind of scared that made my stomach twist.
I ran to her and grabbed her hand.
A teacher whispered to the officer, “We’ve called every emergency contact. There isn’t anyone else.”
One of the policemen crouched down in front of us. His voice gentle.
“Girls, your dad won’t be able to pick you up today.”
Chelsea pressed closer to me. “Where is Daddy?”
The policeman hesitated. He looked at his partner before answering.
“He has to go somewhere for a while.”
“How long?” I asked.
The officer blinked slowly. “A long time.”
Words too big. Too heavy for me to comprehend at only five years old.
Chelsea’s lip trembled. “But who will take care of us?”
I squeezed her hand harder, pretending I wasn’t shaking, too.
The officer forced a smile. “We’re going to take you somewhere safe. You’ll be with other kids. It’ll be…fun.”
It didn’t sound fun to me.
We followed them to the police car. No car seat. No booster.
Just two little girls with backpacks and fear.
They drove us home to grab clothes.
Daddy wasn’t there.
The house smelled like daddy’s grown-up drinks. The sink was full of dishes. One of Mommy’s sweaters still hung over the chair, dusty and untouched. I grabbed it and stuffed it into my backpack.
I packed clothes for Chelsea and me, shoved everything into a trash bag because the officer said we needed to hurry.
Chelsea clung to me the whole time.
“Will Daddy come say bye?” she whispered.
I swallowed hard. “Maybe later.”
A lie.
A small one.
The foster home was huge and loud. Kids everywhere— coloring on the floor, playing video games, and arguing over a couch cushion.
A woman with a floral robe and tired eyes greeted us with a practiced smile.
“You must be Cherise and Chelsea,” she said, voice bright but stretched thin. “I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”
We walked through a maze of beds with mismatched blankets. Some kids stared. Some didn’t bother.
She brought us to two little twin beds side by side.
“This will be your beds. You can put your things here.”
I placed my trash bag full of clothes where she told us.
Chelsea looked up at me, eyes teary. “Daddy isn’t coming back, is he?”
I couldn’t lie this time.
“I don’t think so.”
Her face crumpled. Tears came fast, soaking her lamb.
I pulled her into my arms and held her. My throat burned, but I didn’t cry.
Even when my own heart felt like it was shattering into pieces.
Mommy told me to be brave.
Mommy told me to protect her.
So, I did.