Maurício Piccini
2 min readSep 3, 2022
Photo by Ömürden Cengiz on Unsplash

“She can see the past.” That’s what they told her mom when she was 5.

Fastforward to today. A baby cries across the street, and she knows the violence of its conception.

She remembers being held by a warm blanket and rocking back and forth in an abandoned house on the other side of town. The sun sets outside, painting everything orange and red, casting shadows against the walls as the night grows colder around her. She’s alone, sitting in an empty room with only a crib at her feet. She’s not sure who took care of her while her parents were gone — her father was never one for taking responsibility, so she doesn’t know who the nanny was. They told her that the nanny would take her soon enough, and she’ll go home with them once they have her. But right now, she’s alone, sitting with no place to rest her head because there is nowhere to sit but in this very same chair that had been hers for many hours. “Hi little one,” she whispers to the crying child that lays within the confines of its crib, and it stops immediately. There are tears rolling down her cheeks from exhaustion and sorrow, and her heart feels heavy.

“I miss you so much. I wish your mum was here to watch over you… I know she’d be really excited to meet you…” Her voice trails off into a whisper, “You’ll come home with me soon, won’t you?”

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