Tudor is still nestled in Emily's arms, and shifts slightly. Dora says, with her voice low but clear, "Our mom... she left us. She left me and Tudor... and Dad... We've never had a mother."
The words hang in the air, heavy and raw. Emily's heart twinges, a wave of sadness washing over her as she looks down at the boy, still hugging her. She doesn't say anything for a beat, unsure how to respond to such a deep, painful revelation.
Dora continues, her words coming faster now, almost like she needs to get them out. "I... I don't know why she left. But sometimes, I envy the kids who have moms. I see them and... I just wish I had someone like that. Someone who... wouldn't leave. But I think... moms are just bad people, you know?" She stares at the floor, her tone bitter. "If they really loved their kids, they wouldn't leave them."
Emily's chest tightens at this, the weight of Dora's words sinking deep into her. For a moment, she struggles to find the right words. Her mind flashes to her own daughter, the joy she's always felt raising her, the bond they shared. To hear this little girl speak so painfully about motherhood, it shakes her. She swallows hard, her eyes softening with empathy.
Before she can respond, she feels a small, tight hug around her neck. It's Tudor. The boy, sensing the change in the atmosphere, hugs her even tighter. She feels the warmth of his little body press against her, a silent comfort in his simple action.
She looks down at him, smiling softly as she strokes his hair. "You're a good boy. You know that?"
Tudor lifts his head just a little, still clinging to her, and smiles up at her. Then, with surprising clarity for a 4-year-old, he whispers, "Tudor. My name is Tudor." He gives her a soft kiss on her cheek before hugging her again with even more joy, like the world just became a little lighter.
"Thank you, Emily!" he says with a bright, innocent grin, and without another word, he skips off, full of energy, toward the backyard. His laughter fills the air, a sound of pure joy, and the weight in the room lifts, if only slightly.
Dora watches her brother run out with a quiet smile, but it's not one of complete peace. The girl looks back at Emily, her gaze softer now, as if searching for some reassurance.
Before Emily can respond, the caretaker steps forward with a knowing look in her eyes. "Well, I'm glad to see Tudor's spirits lifted," she says, her voice warm but with a hint of concern. "Emily, would you mind staying just a few more minutes? I'd love for you to meet their father."
Emily nods, her thoughts still tangled from Dora's words, but she smiles, trying to push her sadness aside. "Of course. I'd love to meet him."
As she takes a seat at the kitchen table, the caretaker continues, her hands moving as she arranges the freshly baked pie from the oven. "Their father is a good man. He works hard every day to provide for them. He's strong, but... he's been struggling with their mother's leaving. It's not easy, you know? Raising two kids, alone."
Emily listens intently, her eyes soft, as she takes in the caretaker's words. "I can imagine. It must be so difficult, for all of you."
Olga smiles, but there's a sadness in her eyes too. "It is. But they've survived, and we keep moving forward. Sometimes, we don't have a choice."
Emily nods, feeling the weight of the caretaker's story. She notices the scent of raspberries and baked dough that fills the room. But just as Olga's about to say something, Emily stands, feeling a pull in her chest to return home.
"I should really be going," she says softly, glancing at the door. "My daughter is expecting me."
Olga's expression shifts, a subtle urgency in her voice. "Just a few more minutes. Please. I'd love for you to meet their father. He's a good man, and I think he'd appreciate the company."
Emily hesitates, her hand resting on the back of the chair. She wants to stay longer, to connect more, but her thoughts drift to her daughter, waiting for her at home.
"I'm sorry, I need to go!" Emily says with soft voice.
Just as she approaches the door to leave, a man steps through the entrance. He's tall, with rough hands and a tired expression, his face lined with years of hard work. His eyes widen as he notices Emily standing there, a stranger in his home. For a moment, he's caught off guard, his voice cautious as he speaks.
"Who are you? Why are you in my house?" he asks, his voice sharp, but not unkind.
Emily stands still, unsure how to respond. She can feel Olga beside her, stepping forward to take charge.
"He's... she's the woman who helped Tudor in the garden," Olga explains quickly, her voice reassuring. "Tudor had a little fall, and Emily was kind enough to comfort him. She's been so kind."
The man stares at Emily for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He glances at the caretaker, then back at Emily, the wariness in his eyes slowly shifting to something gentler, though it's still clouded with the weight of his own thoughts. "I see," he mutters, then shifts his gaze again. "I'm sorry for being rude... Thank you for helping Tudor."
Emily nods, offering a polite smile, but before she can say anything, Olga steps forward again, taking Emily by the hand and guiding her back to the table.
"Come, sit. You've been so kind to Tudor. Let me insist! Just try a slice of the pie. You don't want to leave without tasting it." Her voice is warm, but there's an insistence behind it that Emily can't refuse.
Emily's eyes flicker to the door, torn between leaving and staying, but the caretaker's firm, kind presence brings her back to the table. The man stays in the doorway, watching silently as Olga insists again, placing a fork in front of Emily."Just one bite," Olga insists, a soft smile on her face.
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