I Opened My Door and Saw a Crying Little Girl Who Claimed Her Mom Is in My House
I had no idea that welcoming a weeping youngster into my home would bring me the family I had given up on. But in the most surprising ways, life has a way of uniting damaged individuals.
Lila is my name. I’m thirty years old, and I’ve learned over the last five years that grief never goes away. It enters and turns into your shadow. At six months pregnant, I lost my baby boy. My husband departed three months later. He claimed that he was no longer able to do it.
So there I was, trying to find out how to live when everything had stopped, living alone in a two-bedroom apartment that I had moved into two years prior.
As a marketing analyst in Glendale, I put in a lot of overtime. Every Tuesday, I attended therapy, and on Thursdays, I attended a grieving support group. I followed all the instructions in the books.
However, the emptiness persisted.
It was a Friday afternoon in late spring when everything changed. The doorbell rang when I was sipping coffee on my couch and browsing through my phone.
Going to the door, I peered through the spyhole.
My heart stopped.
On my porch stood a young girl. She was no older than six. She wore a faded gingham dress and her dark hair was styled in a tidy braid. But her gaze got to me. Large, brown, desperate eyes that convey more sorrow than any child should be aware of.
She appeared to be praying as she placed her hands together.
Slowly, I opened the door.
I said, “Hi, sweetie,” while bending over. “How can I help you?”
Her eyes were wet and hopeful as she gazed at me. “My mommy is inside. I want to see her.”
I was shaken and bewildered. “I think you might have the wrong house, honey.”
Her braid swung as she gave a firm shake of her head. “No. This is my mommy’s house. Can you call her?”
I looked past her, trying to find an adult. The porch, however, was deserted.
“Honey, I live here by myself. There’s no one else here.”
Tears filled her eyes as her bottom lip quivered.
“Please. Please, I need my mommy. I swear she’s inside. Please call her… please…”
I had no idea what to do. I felt compelled to assist this child.
“Okay, let’s take a breath,” I murmured quietly. “Where’s your daddy? Can I call him for you?”
Her expression fell, and the words that came out made my blood run cold.
“He’s at home. But he says Mommy’s gone forever.”
The unfortunate thing. Had her mother passed away? Something inside of me was broken by the way she stated it, with such naive defiance. This young child was unable to come to terms with her bereavement.
And I saw a reflection of myself when I looked at her.
Her cries made her entire body tremble. Instinctively, I reached out, but she retreated.
“Sweetie, I promise, your mommy isn’t in my house. But how about you come inside for a minute? I’ll get you some water, and we’ll figure out how to get you home safely. Okay?”
She looked up at me, tears flowing down her face. I briefly believed she might nod.
Then she blinked, though.
She simply turned around and fled as I blinked back. The young woman was… gone.
I stood paralyzed, my hand outstretched into the cold, empty air. My heart was racing. I entered the porch and glanced to my left and right.
Nothing. No little female. No footsteps. Only a few seconds ago, there was the slight scent of her presence.
I muttered, “What the hell?”
I tried to persuade myself that I hadn’t dreamed it as I stood there for five minutes, staring at the spot where she had been. However, her voice was still audible to me.
I required clarification.
I strolled over to Mrs. Hanley’s house next door. She had been a resident of the building for more than 20 years and was well-versed in everyone.
She answered with flour on her hands and a smile. “Lila, dear! Come in.”
I followed her into her flat, which had a lemon and vanilla scent.
“Mrs. Hanley, I need to ask you something. It’s going to sound crazy, but please just hear me out.”
She sat at her little kitchen table across from me and poured us each a cup of tea. “Go ahead, dear.”
“Did a family live in my apartment before me? A family with a little girl?”
Mrs. Hanley stopped smiling. Carefully, she put down her teacup.
“Yes,” she responded serenely. “A young couple. They had a daughter. Sweet little thing, always so polite.”
“What happened to them?”
With a sigh, her gaze drifted away to the past.
“The mother got sick. Cancer. It happened fast. She was gone within six months of the diagnosis. The husband, Jeffrey, he just couldn’t stay after that. Too many memories, I suppose. He sold the place and moved a few blocks away. That was about two years ago, right before you moved in.”
Two years. It had been precisely two years since I moved into the flat.
“The little girl,” I uttered with a constricted throat. “What was her name?”
“Cassie.”
Cassie. For weeks, the name kept coming back to me.
I made an effort to forget. I told myself it was the tactics of stress and grief. I might have dreamed it.
However, I was unable to look away from Cassie’s face and her desperate gaze.
Fall followed summer, then winter. I kept going to work and treatment, and kept moving forward. The holidays were cruel. Every pregnancy announcement, every mall family, and every coworker griping about their children felt like a dagger to the chest.
Then one late December night arrived. The chill that crept into your bones. I heard it while preparing dinner.
Make a knock. Make a knock. Make a knock.
Something made me check the peephole first as I made my way to the door.
Once more, she appeared.
Cassie.
She had a small coat wrapped around her. The cold had turned her cheeks crimson. Her eyelashes were frozen with tears.
I flung the door wide.
“Cassie?”
Relief flooded her cheeks as she looked up.
“Please,” she uttered in a broken voice. “Lady, I really need my mommy. Daddy’s on the floor and I can’t wake him up. Please, please call my mommy.”
My tummy fell to my feet.
“Cassie, where do you live? Can you show me?”
She took hold of my hand. Her fingers felt freezing.
“Yes! I knew you’d help! Come on!”
I hardly remembered to lock the door as I snatched up my phone and coat. With her little hand clutching mine, Cassie dragged me down the stairs into the icy night.
We traveled three blocks. Cassie led me till we stopped at a run-down building.
The front door was not locked. We went up two flights. The stench of smoke filled the hallway. One door was open at the end.
Cassie opened it with a shove.
“Daddy’s in there.”
The only light in the flat was the flickering television. I located the light switch.
It was a complete disaster. Laundry, empty bottles, and pizza boxes littered the area.
And there was a man on the couch.
I hurried over and kneeled next to him, saying, “Oh my God.” “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”
I gave him a shoulder shake. He let out a grunt but kept his eyes closed. He had an overpowering alcohol odor that made my eyes water.
“Sir, you need to wake up. Your daughter needs you.”
I gave him a stronger shake. His eyes opened at last, unfocused and bloodshot.
“Bess?” he muttered.
“No, I’m Lila. I live in your old apartment. Your daughter came to get me because you were passed out on the floor.”
It appeared to register. After failing at pushing himself up, he tried again.
He muttered, “Don’t need your help,” “Get out.”
My chest flashed with rage. This dad was too inebriated to stand, and he had a lovely little kid who was afraid.
“I’m not here for you,” I shot back, my tone penetrating. “I’m here for Cassie. While you were lying over here like this, she was wandering around in the freezing cold, knocking on a stranger’s door for help.”
At last, he got up and rubbed his face.
“Cassie?” He asked, surveying the area. “Where is she?”
I pivoted to indicate the doorway where Cassie had been standing, her tiny body quivering and tears still pouring down her cheeks.
“She’s right there,” I replied softly.
When Jeffrey saw his daughter, tears welled up in his eyes. Shakily, he got to his feet and staggered in her direction.
His voice trembled as he spoke, “Cassie, baby, I’m so sorry.” “I’m so sorry you had to see me like this.”
She rushed over to him and put her tiny arms around his waist.
“Daddy, I was so scared. You wouldn’t wake up. I ran to our old house… brought the kind lady… and…”
Sobbing into her hair, he knelt down and drew her close to him. “I know. I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
My heart wrenched for both of them as I watched this devastated father comfort his frightened daughter.
Jeffrey eventually looked up at me, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Thank you,” he said in a whisper. “Thank you for bringing her home safe.”
“She brought me here,” I whispered. “She’s a brave little girl.”
Still on to Cassie, he nodded. “She shouldn’t have to be. She’s six years old. She should be playing with dolls, not wandering the streets looking for help because her dad can’t get his act together.”
I remarked, “You’re grieving,” “But you can get help. For her sake. For yours.”
He turned from me to Cassie and said, “You’re right. I need to do better. I have to do better.”
I ought to have fled at that point. I should have left without turning around. However, I ended up remaining as Jeffrey brewed coffee, and the three of us sat in that disorganized living room, trying to figure out how we were going to proceed from this point on.
“My wife, Bessie… she died in that apartment,” Jeffrey remarked while holding his mug in his hands. “She wanted to be home, not in a hospital. So we set up hospice care, and I took care of her until the end.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He looked into his coffee and nodded.
“Cassie was only three. Too young to really understand what was happening. She kept asking when Mommy was going to wake up, when Mommy was going to feel better. I didn’t know how to explain death to a three-year-old.”
I whispered, “How do you explain it to anyone?”
At that moment, I noticed recognition in his eyes as he looked up at me. “You’ve lost someone, too.”
With my throat too constricted to speak, I nodded.
“My unborn baby. And then my marriage. It still feels like yesterday sometimes,” I said.
We sat quietly. Pain and anguish drew two shattered people together.
“I can’t do this alone anymore,” Jeffrey, at last, replied. “I thought I could be strong for Cassie. But I’m drowning.”
“I know that feeling. But you have to do this… for you… for her.”
I followed up with Jeffrey over the course of the following week. made sure he was eating, brought him coffee, and put him in touch with a therapist.
We gradually became buddies.
I heard about Bess from him. How she made him laugh, how they first met in college, and how she had always desired motherhood.
I informed him about my son, the name we had decided on, and the nursery I had painted. About how, when we lost him, my husband was unable to look at me.
Months went by. Meetings, a sponsor, and the effort of confronting his loss helped Jeffrey get sober.
I began to visit their flat more frequently. assisting with schoolwork. preparing dinner. viewing motion pictures.
It was instinctive.
Jeffrey and I were cleaning the kitchen one evening after Cassie had gone to bed when he stopped.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
I put the dish I was cleaning down.
“I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”
Then he gave me a tender, hopeful, and sweet kiss.
We moved slowly. For ourselves, for Cassie. And we were married in a modest ceremony a year later. Cassie was grinning as she stood behind me in a pink outfit.
Life began to feel full once more. Real and warm… and worthwhile to live.
I took a pregnancy test two years after I first met Jeffrey.
Good.
I was afraid. Fearful about losing a child again. However, Jeffrey supported me during every appointment and terrifying moment.
I gave birth to a healthy boy nine months later. We gave him the name Henry.
The proudest big sister was Cassie. She wanted to assist in every way.
Our small family felt whole.
I was putting Cassie to bed one evening when Henry was six months old. Even though she was nine years old and growing larger, she still enjoyed it when I put her to sleep.
“Mom?” she murmured.
My heart still tightened at the word. After the wedding, she began referring to me as “Mom” approximately six months later.
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“I think my first mommy sent me to find you.”
With my hand on her blanket, I froze.
“What do you mean?”
Her brown eyes, which I had seen on my porch, were fixed on me.
“I don’t remember doing it. But sometimes I dream about walking to your apartment. About knocking on your door. And in the dream, my mommy’s with me. She tells me you need me just as much as I need you.”
My eyes pricked with tears.
“Cassie, I…”
“I think she knew,” Cassie added. “That Daddy was drowning. That you were sad. That we could help each other.”
I bent over and gave her a forehead kiss. “I think maybe she did, sweetheart.”
Cassie closed her eyes and grinned. She fell asleep in a matter of minutes.
Jeffrey was feeding Henry as I returned to our bedroom. He grinned as he looked up.
“Everything okay?”
I sat next to him and nodded.
“Yeah. Everything’s okay.”
Indeed, it was. Not flawless. Not without suffering or the specters of our deceased loved ones. But all right.
Destiny doesn’t always knock politely. It knocks on your door like a small girl in need. It takes you three blocks in the bitter cold to a man who is equally in need of salvation as you are.
Grief doesn’t always go away. It returns the favor.
I discovered that grief can shatter you in ways that are more painful than anything else. However, being broken open allows for the growth of something new. Something surprising that appears to be a second opportunity after you’ve lost faith in them.
I showed up when Cassie needed me, and she showed up when I needed her. I’ll never know if it was magic, grief, or simply the cosmos acting in enigmatic ways.
But I am aware of my gratitude. for coming to my door. For the young girl whose eyes were full of desperation. For the man who was broken but found healing. And for the family we created out of our broken fragments.
And I am aware that Bess is grinning somewhere, knowing that the people she cared about were able to find love once more.
