Chapter 75: The First Signs of Trust

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of freshly brewed tea and warm pastries. I sat on Mama's lap at the breakfast table, her arms securely wrapped around me as I nibbled on a piece of toast. My sisters chatted cheerfully, their voices blending into a comforting hum. Everything felt warm, safe.

Across the table, my father sat with a hesitant smile. He had cooked breakfast again, just like last night, and everyone had praised him for his effort. I remained silent, my fingers tightening slightly around my toast. He was trying—I could see that—but the knot in my chest refused to loosen completely.

After breakfast, Sophia suggested we spend the afternoon in the private garden. It was my favorite place—calm, filled with the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle chirping of birds. I liked it there. No loud voices. No unfamiliar faces. Just the warm presence of my family.

Mama carried me outside, my cheek resting against her shoulder. I felt safe in her arms, and even as my father followed behind us, I didn't feel the same overwhelming fear I used to. The garden was already being set up for a picnic, with blankets spread on the grass and baskets full of my favorite treats. My sisters worked quickly, arranging everything with excited smiles, their laughter filling the air like a beautiful melody.

I sat beside Mama on a soft blanket, wrapped in her warmth as she gently stroked my hair. My sisters were chatting, playfully arguing over who would pour the tea when something small and delicate landed on my hand. A butterfly. Its wings were soft blue, the edges patterned with white spots. It fluttered lightly, tickling my skin, and before I realized it, a small giggle escaped my lips.

The world seemed to pause. My sisters turned toward me, their eyes wide with joy at the sound. Mama's embrace tightened just a little, her lips pressing a soft kiss to my temple. But it wasn't just them who noticed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father watching—his expression frozen somewhere between disbelief and quiet hope.

Then, carefully, he knelt beside me. He didn't reach out. He didn't try to take the moment away. He simply sat there, close but not too close, watching the butterfly with me.

I hesitated, my fingers twitching slightly. The fear wasn't as sharp anymore, but it was still there, buried deep within me. Still, for some reason, I found myself speaking before I could stop myself.

"Do butterflies sleep?" My voice was barely above a whisper, but it reached him.

My father blinked, surprised, but quickly recovered. His voice was gentle, careful. "Yes, they do. At night, they find a safe place to rest, usually under leaves or inside flowers."

I looked down at the tiny creature, watching as it fluttered its wings lightly. "Do they have families?"

There was a long pause. Then, my father spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "Not in the way we do. But some butterflies stay close to where they were born. Some even travel across the world together."

I didn't respond immediately. The butterfly took off from my hand, soaring into the air before disappearing into the trees. I watched it go, feeling something strange settle in my chest—not heavy, not painful. Just… different.

I looked at my father. He wasn't expecting anything, just watching, waiting. I still didn't know if I could trust him completely. But for the first time, I didn't feel like running away.

Mama's hand stroked my back in slow, soothing circles. My sisters had remained quiet, watching the moment unfold with soft, knowing smiles. They didn't rush me. They never did.

For now, that was enough. A small step. A fragile bridge forming.

Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as alone in this as I thought.