It Is Just A Child's Game

The sun light entered the room through the window and fell harshly on her face causing her bright blue eyes to open. She let out a soft yawn as she stretched her arms before getting out of bed. She carelessly rubbed her tired eyes despite being told not to numerous times while growing up. She ran her hand over her face and through her messy copper hair.

Last night had been really something. To sum it up, her mother was quite surprised to see her standing there especially since she wasn’t alone. Luckily, she didn’t have to explain anything because it was the middle of the night. Her mother let her come in and directed her to her old room where she and her companion crashed on the bed immediately.

Another yawn escaped her lips as she slowly tied her hair into a loose ponytail. She looked over her shoulder and saw that he was still asleep. His light brown hair fell over his eyes and his breathing was deep and heavy.

I better talk to mother before he wakes up.

She slowly made her way through the house that she had grown up in. Memories flooded her forming images and sounds. A small smile graced her lips with some of them. She quietly walked down the stairs and peeked into the kitchen where she saw a middle-aged couple, her parents. She took a deep breath and tried to fix the babydoll top she fell asleep in.

It is now or never.

She slowly walked into the bright yellow kitchen. She softly knocked on the door frame, attracting the attention of the couple before her.

“Annabelle Cahlen Anderson” her father said, his deep and low voice echoed in the room.

She snapped her head in his direction and cautiously bit her lip, waiting for what would come after.

“Give daddy a hug!” he said, a smile on his face.

She ran across the room and fell into his open arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around her father. He gave her a tight squeeze before letting her go. She took a seat on his lap just like she used to when she was little.

“You have a lot of explaining to do.” Her mother said from her position by the stove.

The smell of eggs and bacon quickly reached Cahlen’s nose and she greedily licked her lips. She had missed her mother’s cooking.

“Where have you been these past few years?” her mother asked.

“I’ve been in London, ma.” Cahlen replied with a deep sigh.

“Why did you leave so abruptly? You didn’t pack a thing or say goodbye.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice, making Cahlen feel guilty.

“I just had to.”

“That’s not a proper answer.”

“I had a lot of reasons why I had to leave.”

“Cahlen, give me one reason—“

“Let’s not worry about that. All that matters is that you’re back, honey bug.” Her father said, cutting of his wife and stopping the fight that was about to arise.

Cahlen sent a grateful smile her father’s way which he returned.

“Okay, then explain why you didn’t arrive alone last night.” Her mother said not prepared to back down.

“You didn’t arrive alo—“ Her father started but was quickly interrupted by the entrance of someone new into the kitchen.

“Is that bacon?” his soft voice floated in the air.

Cahlen quickly walked over to the three-year old and lifted his small frame. She carried him against her hip before slowly stopping by the counter that was in the center of the room.

“Mom, dad” she said, her voice cracking a bit. “This is Franklin Eric Stiles. Say hi Frankie.”

“Hello,” the little boy said with a little wave.

The room stayed still as the married couple stared at the little boy before them. With his creamy complexion, light brown hair, and sea green eyes, he looked very familiar.