Eight

2002

Past  ~ Age: 12~December 23rd

Jesse and his family had left for the holidays, leaving Annabelle utterly alone. The trailler was quiet, except for the cool air that seemed to sweep through in unpredictable waves of cold and slight warmth.

She didn't know where her mother was. She didn't know where her father was. But she did know they weren't coming back tonight, or even in a couple of days.

The hunger was too much. She hadn't eaten all day. The house was desolate: no food, no heat, and nothing alive, just the smell of dust and an empty fridge that hadn't held much in months. She needed to eat. But she had no money, nowhere to go, and no one she could trust without practically begging.

But she did know where she might find food: Betty’s Diner.

It was four miles away.

The walk was grueling. The cold air stung her exposed skin like a thousand tiny needles, numbing her fingers and making her teeth chatter uncontrollably. Her breath hung in the air, crystallizing with each exhalation. Her clothes, stiff and dirty from days of wear, chafed against her skin, barely keeping the chill out. Still, she kept going, step after unforgiving step, because she had no choice.

By the time Annabelle reached the diner, her legs were heavy and aching. The neon sign flickered above, its hazy glow illuminating Betty’s in the dim streetlights. It was late—too late to go inside without being noticed, so she slipped around to the alley behind the building.

She crouched deep in the shadows, waiting.

At this hour, the workers would soon be finishing up, taking out the last trash bag of the night. Her heart pounded as she listened, her fingers twitching with uncertainty.

The back door finally creaked open. A worker stepped outside, tossed a single, heavy bag into the dumpster, and returned inside.

She waited. Then, with bated breath, when she was sure no one was around, she hesitated for a single heartbeat. A rustling behind her made her breath catch; it was nothing more than the wind, but it was enough to make her mind wander to a memory of a dinner table, once filled with laughter and the rich smell of home-cooked meals. The thought slipped away as quickly as it came, and she rushed forward. Her hands trembled as she ripped open the bag. The first thing she noticed was the overwhelming smell of rotting food mixed with stale grease, but she didn’t care. She just needed something, anything, to fuel the desperate hunger.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The voice froze her in place. She turned slowly, her breath snagging in her throat. Betty stood framed in the doorway, a shotgun held casually in her hands, her sharp eyes locked onto Annabelle. Fear and shame hit her all at once. “It’s me,” Annabelle stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “Annabelle.”

Betty’s expression shifted instantly. “Dear child,” she breathed out, slowly lowering the shotgun. “What are you doing out here? You scared me half to death.”

Betty stepped closer, taking a long, hard look at Annabelle, and her face softened with concern.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” she asked.

Annabelle nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away fiercely.

Betty sighed, shaking her head as she reached out and gripped Annabelle’s arm gently. “Come on. You’re not digging through the trash for food. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She led Annabelle inside, up the narrow stairs to her small apartment above the diner. The sudden blast of warmth hit Annabelle like a physical wave, and she nearly collapsed from sheer relief. Betty filled the tub with steaming hot water and handed Annabelle a clean, fluffy towel. “Take a bath,” she said gruffly. “You smell like the gutter.” Annabelle didn’t argue. She scrubbed herself raw, watching the dirt swirl down the drain until the water ran clear.

When she stepped out, Betty was waiting with a plate of food: a generous sandwich, a handful of hot, salty fries, and a tall glass of milk.

She devoured it so quickly she barely registered the taste.

Betty watched her for a moment, then sighed again, softer this time. “You could’ve just knocked on the damn door,” she muttered, shaking her head sadly.

Annabelle stared at the empty plate in her lap, her fingers tight around it. She felt a deep rush of shame and longed to explain that asking for help had never worked before. Annabelle spent the last two weeks of Christmas with Betty, and to her surprise, she found moments of unexpected happiness and warmth even in such a desolate time.