When She Was Stolen-Chapter Thirteen

A Slow Healing

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Bri was home now, safe, and the healing process could begin for my sister and myself. It was hard having the doctor’s words play over and over again in my mind, but it was even harder knowing how much worse my sister’s experience had been.

As soon as Bri left the hospital, she hated being away from me, the nightmares kept her awake all night, and I felt powerless to help her. It was hard for me to know how to help her. She had been through so much, and I felt helpless to help her, yet she went out of her way to make sure I was okay.

At seven, I wanted her to have fun, play, be a kid, to embrace the second chance we had been given, but it was difficult when you feared the shadows. I did my best to give Bri a good childhood, even though I was barely more than a child myself, forced to be the mother of a sister 10 years younger than me. Even still, I felt she deserved more.

The situation was different now, she could ride a bike, which I taught her at the age of six, but I hadn’t taught her how to rollerblade, as I had promised, now I would never be able to do so.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for Chelsea?”

“I never taught you how to rollerblade.”