As I lay in bed reading my favorite novel, I hear a noise coming from the kitchen. So I peer over the top of my book as not to draw any attention to myself, figuring it was just my daughter, Tiffany, on her way to the bathroom for her midnight potty break. When what I see is another little girl I had never seen before. She was about 4 or 5 years old, long golden brown hair and wearing a long beautiful dress that you would more than likely see on little girls from the early 1900s. I closed my eyes tight and opened them again, thinking maybe my book had got the best of me and my eyes were playing tricks on me. This was not the case. Still there, she didn’t seem to notice me standing there, or if she did she didn’t seem to mind. Though she did not walk around like a normal child did, she seemed to float, or more less hover across the floor.

      It was as if she was looking for something she had lost. with a pitiful looking sad face and every now and then, I could see a tear trickle down her cheek. Something inside me wanted to ask here what was wrong, if there was something I could do to help her. But what the hell was I going to do? I wasn’t even sure this was real. So I lay there, silent, watching, listening, waiting, to see what she may do next. She seemed to be interested in the stairs that lead downstairs. It was like she was pacing back and fourth. This went on for what seemed like a long time. Soon she stopped, staring down the steps, now crying more than ever with an occasional sob or two in between her falling tears. Ever so quietly, I heard her start to speak. In hopes to not disturb her, I slowly put my book down on my lap and tried to listen. Her voice, soft, was very hard to understand and as you can imagine her crying didn’t help matters. I continued to listen to her as she spoke.

      “Mommy… I’m here now, right here… waiting…”

She started to cry a little harder as she began to speak again.

      “I’m sorry mommy, I’m so very sorry.”