Two

Hazel’s first days with the Jacksons were strange. Everything around her felt different. The house was not big like Valentina’s. There were no marble floors, no tall mirrors, no maids walking by. Instead, there were narrow halls, uneven wooden boards, and walls where the paint had started to peel.

At first Hazel felt out of place. She didn’t understand why she was here. Where was the park? Where was Valentina? She remembered the woman screaming, “My baby!” but she hadn’t run back. She hadn’t come for her. Hazel didn’t know what that meant yet, but it left a small ache in her chest.

Marie tried her best to comfort her. She was gentle with everything she did. She brushed Hazel’s hair, tied it with a simple ribbon, and made porridge that smelled warm and sweet. Hazel didn’t eat much at first. She just pushed the spoon around in the bowl. Marie didn’t force her. She only said, “It’s okay, little one. When you’re ready.”

Jackson was different. He was taller than anyone Hazel had known, with a loud voice that shook the small house. He wasn’t mean, just rough. Sometimes he barked at their son to stop coughing so hard, or he slammed the door when he came in from work. Hazel would shrink back when she heard him. But then he would bend down, hand Hazel a small piece of candy from his pocket, and rumble, “Here, kid. For you.” It confused her, but it also made her smile.

Their son, Daniel, was sickly but full of life in his own way. He had dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he had a grin that came easily. The first time he saw Hazel, he declared, “She’s my sister now.” He coughed right after, but he still dragged her to his room to show her his collection of toys. Most were old and scratched, but he treated them like treasures.

“See this one?” he said proudly, holding up a toy soldier with one arm broken off. “He’s the general. He doesn’t need two arms to win.”

Hazel giggled quietly. For the first time, her laugh wasn’t forced.

The nights were the hardest. Hazel would curl up under the thin blanket, wide-eyed in the dark. She missed the shiny chandelier lights she used to fall asleep under. She missed the expensive dolls lined up on the shelf. Most of all, she missed the idea of “Mommy,” even though that Mommy had never really cared for her.

Marie noticed. She sat by Hazel’s bed and sang songs in a low voice. They weren’t fancy lullabies, just simple tunes Marie remembered from her own childhood. Hazel listened, fighting the heaviness in her chest. After a while, her eyes would close, and she’d dream less about being taken away and more about being held.

One night Hazel whispered, “Mommy,” again. Her voice cracked. Marie’s heart jumped. She leaned closer and whispered back, “Yes, Hazel. I’m here.”

That was the first time Hazel truly believed she wasn’t alone.

Days turned into weeks. Hazel started to follow Marie around the house. She helped with small chores, carrying folded laundry, sweeping a corner of the floor with a broom almost her size. She felt proud when Marie smiled and said, “Good job.”

Daniel teased her sometimes. “You sweep like a turtle,” he said, but his grin softened the words. Hazel stuck her tongue out at him. They both laughed, even though Jackson told them to quiet down.

One afternoon Daniel asked Hazel, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Hazel tilted her head. She had never thought about it before. At Valentina’s house, nobody had asked her what she wanted. She had just done whatever she was told.

“I want…” Hazel paused, then looked at Marie stirring soup at the stove. “…I want to be like Mommy.”

Daniel blinked. “Mommy?”

Hazel nodded firmly. “Yes. She’s nice. She makes things warm.”

Marie turned around at that moment. Her eyes were wet, but her smile was bright. She didn’t correct Hazel. She didn’t say Hazel wasn’t really hers. She only said, “Then you’ll be wonderful when you grow up.”

Hazel grinned shyly, holding onto those words like a secret treasure.

Hazel grew braver each day. At first, she was scared of going outside. She clung to Marie’s skirt, afraid someone would take her again. But after a while, Daniel pulled her into small adventures. They chased each other through muddy alleys, climbed fences they weren’t supposed to, and watched the other kids play soccer in the street. Hazel couldn’t run as fast, but Daniel always slowed down for her.

“You’re my team,” he told her, patting her shoulder like he was the captain.

Hazel held onto those words. She didn’t know what it meant to be on someone’s team before, but now it felt important.

At night, when she lay in bed, Hazel no longer cried for the other life she barely remembered. She listened to the creak of the floor when Jackson moved, the soft hum of Marie’s songs. The sounds weren’t perfect, but they were hers now.

One evening, the rain returned. It drummed against the tin roof and leaked through one corner of the ceiling. Hazel sat by the bucket catching drops and laughed at the splashing sound. Daniel joined her, tossing a marble into the bucket and making ripples.

Marie walked in and scolded them lightly. “You’ll catch a cold.” But she was smiling.

Hazel leaned against Daniel, both of them watching the ripples spread.

And in that small, leaky house, surrounded by people who weren’t her blood but cared for her anyway, Hazel’s new life truly began.