Chapter five _A girl who used to shine

The living room was soaked in quiet, golden light. Dust particles floated lazily in the air, dancing in and out of sunbeams that filtered through the curtains. It was one of those calm afternoons that made the silence feel heavier than usual.

Mrs. Griggs sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, hands folded in her lap, lips pressed into a thin line. Across from her, in her old rocker by the window,Mama Tilda moved slowly back and forth, knitting needles idle in her wrinkled hands.

"I barely recognize her anymore," Mrs. Griggs said suddenly, her voice low, carrying weight that had been building up for years. "Sometimes I look at her and wonder… where did my daughter go?"

Mama Tilda didn't respond right away. She tilted her head slightly, looking toward the hallway as though she expected to see Mary's shadow drifting past.

"She's still there,"Mama Tilda said eventually. "Just… buried."

Mrs. Griggs sighed. "Buried is the word. She's not the Mary I used to know. She used to laugh, Mama. Do you remember? That laugh that filled a whole room. She used to sing while sweeping the house. She used to dance in the rain like life was hers for the taking."

"I remember,"Mama Tilda said softly. "I remember a girl who lit up every space she entered. Confident. Sharp. Too bright to hold in one hand."

Mrs. Griggs blinked, and her eyes glossed over with emotion. "It's like she faded the night we lost everything." She paused, swallowing hard. "The night my husband died of shame."

"You mean the night we were destroyed,"Mama Tilda added, her voice sterner. "The night this family name was dragged through the streets, and none of the so-called friends lifted a finger to help us."

Mrs. Griggs nodded. "She heard everything. Even though she was just fifteen, she heard the whispers. She saw the change. One moment, people couldn't stop praising my husband, and the next moment they crossed the street when they saw us coming. Like disgrace was contagious."

"She lost her father… and her identity,"Mama Tilda murmured. "She didn't just grieve a man. She grieved the life she thought she'd have."

Mrs. Griggs looked down at her fingers, fiddling with the edge of her dress. "It's been ten years. Ten years, and still, she walks like she's carrying the weight of that night on her back. She doesn't laugh anymore, Mama. She barely talks."

"She's polite,"Mama Tilda said, "but distant. She speaks just enough to keep people away. She knows how to smile, but it never touches her eyes. That girl we raised… she's behind some kind of glass."

They both fell silent. The ticking wall clock filled the pause, each second tapping louder than it should.

"I worry she'll never know love," Mrs. Griggs said, barely above a whisper. "She's so guarded. So withdrawn. Sometimes I see her sit by the window, watching people go by, like life is something she's no longer part of."

"She's never brought a man home,"Mama Tilda noted, squinting slightly. "Never even mentioned anyone. Not even once."

"Stephen's the only one she lets close," Mrs. Griggs admitted. "And even that… I think it's just comfort. Safety. She trusts him because he was there before everything fell apart."

Mama Tilda gave a small nod. "He's loyal. But he's not the one to wake her up."

"I don't know if anyone can," Mrs. Griggs said, tears threatening. "How do you reach someone who's locked themselves in? How do you teach them to feel again, to hope again?"

"She needs to believe life can be good again,"Mama Tilda said gently. "That the past isn't the end of her story. But I don't think she believes that. Not yet."

Mrs. Griggs stood suddenly, pacing slowly across the room. "She turns down every invitation. Doesn't go to events, doesn't join anything. I asked her to come with me to church last month—she gave me that soft 'maybe next time' smile. But there's never a next time."

"She's afraid,"Mama Tilda said.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of being seen again. Of being judged. Of being loved."Mama Tilda looked out the window, her eyes distant. "Because when you've known the pain of losing everything, even love starts to look like a risk you can't afford."

Mrs. Griggs's voice cracked. "But she deserves more than this half-life."

"She does,"Mama Tilda agreed. "But we can't force her. She has to decide, in her own time, that it's worth trying again. All we can do is stay close, hold the light out for her."

Mrs. Griggs sank back onto the couch, tired. "I just want her to be happy again. To feel alive."

"She will,"Mama Tilda said, with the quiet strength of a woman who'd seen many winters. "When the right moment comes. Or the right person."

Mrs. Griggs looked over, surprised. "You think a man could change that?"

"I think sometimes,"Mama Tilda said slowly, "it takes something unexpected. Someone who doesn't know her past, who doesn't look at her like she's broken. Just… someone who sees her."

Mrs. Griggs looked away. "I don't even know if she wants to be seen. Sometimes I wonder if she's given up."

"No,"Mama Tilda said firmly. "She hasn't. If she had, she wouldn't keep getting up every morning. She wouldn't keep trying to live quietly. Even in her silence, she's still fighting."

They sat in quiet reflection again, the air thick with memories.

"Do you think we should talk to her?" Mrs. Griggs asked after a while. "Tell her it's okay to move on? To live again?"

"She knows,"Mama Tilda said. "But hearing it wouldn't hurt. She needs to know we see her. That we love her still. That what happened to your husband wasn't her burden to carry."

Mrs. Griggs exhaled deeply. "I wish her father were here."

"I know,"Mama Tilda said. "He'd have known what to say."

They sat a little longer in the quiet. Outside, children's voices echoed faintly in the distance. A dog barked. Life went on.

"I'm going to make dinner," Mrs. Griggs finally said, rising with effort. "She'll be back from the store soon. Maybe I'll sit with her a while. Not to ask questions. Just to… be there."

Mama Tilda smiled softly. "Don't touch her pain when it's time conversation will naturally flow in."

As Mrs. Griggs disappeared into the kitchen,Mama Tilda leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She whispered a quiet prayer—one she had prayed many times over the years.

That one day, Mary would find her way back to the girl she used to be.