The Pretend To Be Agreement

Epilogue PT. 1

Song Above:  We Don't Talk Anymore - Charlie Puth

[EDITED]

GRACE: EPILOGUE - PART ONE - THREE (AND A HALF) YEARS LATER

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"Cami!" I call out my daughter's name, trying not to panic as I clutched at the baby monitor for dear life—a small part of me, the irrational mother part of me, told me that if I let go of the monitor I'd never find Camille. But that's just idiotic thinking...or is it?

Where is she?

Camille had been obsessed with playing hide-and-seek ever since David had taught her what it meant. When he had come down for Easter weekend a week ago, David had made it his mission to spoil and get as much playtime as he could with Camille before he had to leave. At first, it had been cute, but when David had left back to Brooklyn, and Camille had no one to play with, she had turned to me and had been begging me for hours on end to play hide-and-seek with her. But after denying her so many times because of my busy schedule and not having the energy, she had given up on asking me and decided to play by herself—which is how I ended up her, on the second floor of three-story home, scouring the house in search for my little girl who was nowhere to be found.

She couldn't have gotten that far, I tell myself as I round the corner in the hallway, breathing heavily. I stop, one hand pressed against the wall to keep my upright and the other clutching at the baby monitor for dear life. It was my only form of communicating with Camille. I had only figured out that she had disappeared after her babysitter—Christy—had phoned me and kept telling me to come due to an emergency.

Little did I know that the emergency Christy had been talking about was that my two-and-half-year-old daughter was gone and hiding somewhere in the house, and neither of us knew where she was. So, not only was I out of breath, in the dire need of going to have to work out more, but I couldn't find my child.

God, if you're listening, please send me a sign.

And as if the man upstairs had actually been listening, the baby monitor in my hand crackles before the sweet, but taunting, sound of my daughter's voice comes through the speaker.

"Come and find me, mommy," she giggles, and I knew instantly that she thought that this was a game. If only she knew that for me, it was going to be the cause of a very horrible panic attack if I didn't find her soon. Although, it does calm me down slightly just hearing her voice. The hard pounding of my heart against my chest slows down and I let out a relieved sigh.

"....Cami, sweetie, mommy's getting worried," I admit, pressing one of the many buttons on the white device in my hand, speaking back to my daughter. "And do you know what happens when mommy gets worried?"

I don't hear anything from her for a moment, which is to be expected. And there was only silence that filled the air and the quiet crackling coming from the baby monitor, and just when I'm about to give up and continue searching do I hear a loud cry. Turning my head to the side I find Camille running out of the towel closet and toward me, wobbling back and forth on her short legs. Her arms in the air as she kept wailing, screaming the word 'Mommy' over and over again until her arms were wrapped around my leg and had her head nuzzled into my thigh. It shocks me at first, not expecting this at all, but I recover quickly and without thinking I bend down and pick her up.

"Are you okay, honey?" I ask as she buries her face into the crook of my neck, Camille's little arms resting on my shoulders and legs wrapped around my torso. She whimpers, and instead of giving me a verbal reply, I feel her shake her head.