Beneath the Surface

Eleanor traced the condensation on the windowpane, the chill seeping into her fingertips. Outside, the world continued its cheerful, unburdened spin. Children’s laughter, bright and sharp as scattered jewels, floated up from the park across the street. It was a sound that had once been the very air she breathed, the sunshine that warmed her heart. Now, it was a delicate chime, a reminder of a promise whispered long ago.

*I’m not scared, my darlings. Not scared at all.*

The words, so easily spoken then, felt heavy on her tongue now, like stones she carried in her pocket. She remembered the wide, trusting eyes looking up at her, eyes that mirrored her own, yet held a purity she had long since lost. They had believed her, implicitly, with the unwavering faith only children possess. And she, in turn, had believed in her own strength, a strength that had felt as solid and unshakeable as the ancient oak in their backyard.