Father carried Milly into his office and set her down.
Back then, the connection was like a magnet: close, nearly constant, and almost effortless. As Milly grew, orbit increased — but gaps in time began.
“Mildred, come meet your new brother.” Father sat by the fireplace, with dark-haired Stepmother, who held an infant boy.
Stepmother beckoned her own daughter. Stepsister approached their half-brother.
“Mildred, come,” Father said.
Little Milly’s feet froze in place. She stared at the framed photograph, then up toward the Moon through the underground skylight hatch.
Father snapped his fingers. “Come here!”
Milly didn’t.
He got up, snarling at her with angry teeth, and grabbed her little arm. “Come meet your new mother!” He yanked Milly toward the rest of them. Father turned to Stepmother. “I’ll get rid of that old photo.”
That year, before the numbness solidified, moments like these were hard to watch. It was surely confusing for Milly, but her numbness set in later.
[Author’s Note] Any guesses who our mysterious narrator who speaks in italics is?
Her mother's ghost?