I tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the seventh one, knowing that it would creak. I could hear them talking. Were they talking about me?
As I crept along the hall, I heard her voice slightly raised but the words were muffled. I would have to get closer. I reached the door to the kitchen and paused. What if they caught me listening? Would they be cross? I think they would, but I want to hear!
Leaning gently on the handle, I inched the door open. I could see them through the crack, face to face across the table. Both looked very serious. A long time passed when neither one of them said anything. The silence was never ending, like we’d been frozen in time. Had I done something really bad? Is that why they sent me to my room?
As I watched with bated breath, I saw him finally reach across and grab her wrists. She was crying. Perhaps she had done something bad. How could that be? I turned my ear to the crack to listen.
“We’ll see how she handles it go from there.” I heard him whisper.
“But what if she hates it and wants to come back?” I heard her ask, her voice shaking.
I clutched my chest in panic. They were sending me away! Why couldn’t I stay here with them? Surely I hadn’t been so naughty that they didn’t want me anymore. My heart raced and sweat appeared on my forehead. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear any more but I couldn’t tear myself away from that crack in the door.
*The child is listening to her parents talking about moving house.