PART 2: My sister left her five-year-old little girl with me for three days, and I thought all I had to do was play cartoons and warm up some food.
My sister left her five-year-old daughter with me for three days, and I thought I’d only have to put on cartoons and heat up some food. But on the first night, when I served her a bowl of homemade beef stew, the little girl didn’t even touch her spoon. Instead, trembling, she asked me: “Uncle… am I allowed to eat today?”
Part 4: The First Therapy Session
Three days after the incident, I drove Ruby to her first therapy appointment.
She sat quietly in the back seat holding her new doll.
No tracker.
No stitches.
Just a normal doll.
The office was inside a small brick building surrounded by oak trees.
The waiting room had colorful books, puzzles, and stuffed animals.
Ruby stood beside me and whispered:
“Am I supposed to tell her what happened?”
The question broke my heart.
“You only tell her what you want to tell her.”
“What if she gets mad?”
“She won’t.”
The therapist’s name was Dr. Helen Martinez.
She greeted Ruby with a smile and pointed toward a shelf full of toys.
“You can talk if you want,” she said.
“Or we can just play.”
Ruby looked confused.
“That’s it?”
Dr. Martinez nodded.
“That’s it.”
For almost twenty minutes, Ruby didn’t say a single word.
She simply stacked wooden blocks.
Red.
Blue.
Yellow.
Over and over.
