he father stared at his daughter.
The bus stop felt suddenly too quiet.
Rainwater dripped from the shelter roof.
Cars passed.
Nobody moved.
The little girl lowered her head.
Her fingers tightened around the white cane.
The father looked at the boy.
“What are you talking about?”
The boy looked calm.
Too calm.
Then quietly said—
“She sees everything.”
The father frowned.
“How do you know?”
The boy looked at the scratches on his hands.
Then quietly answered—
“Because she warned me.”
Silence.
The father turned slowly.
His daughter froze.
Her voice became tiny.
“Please don’t be mad.”
The father knelt.
Careful.
“Sweetheart…”
He swallowed.
“…can you see me?”
Long silence.
Then—
slowly—
she lifted her face.
Looked directly at him.
For the first time.
His breath caught.
She could.
His voice cracked.
“How long?”
She whispered—
“A long time.”
The father sat down.
Like his legs forgot how to work.
“But why?”
The girl looked away.
Didn’t answer.
Then the boy quietly reached into his pocket.
Pulled out a small tape recorder.
Old.
Scratched.
Click.
A woman’s voice played.
Soft.
Calm.
“If he finds out you can see… he’ll leave us.”
The father froze.
Again.
