Cassandra's POV
I wake up at 2 AM to a small sound.
Crying.
I lie there for a moment, disoriented. This isn't my bed. This isn't my apartment.
Right. I'm married. Living in Elijah's penthouse.
The crying continues. Soft, muffled. Coming from down the hall.
Mia.
I slip out of bed, pad quietly down the hallway in my pajamas.
Mia's door is slightly open. I peek in.
She's sitting up in bed, clutching Mr. Hopps, tears streaming down her face.
My heart breaks.
I knock gently. Mia? Sweetie, can I come in?
She nods, still crying.
I sit on the edge of her bed. What's wrong?
I had a bad dream, she whispers. About Mommy.
Oh God.
Do you want to tell me about it?
She shakes her head.
That's okay. Do you want me to get Uncle Eli?
Another shake. He has to work in the morning. I don't want to bother him.
This five-year-old is worried about bothering her guardian. The thought makes me want to cry too.
You're never a bother, Mia. Uncle Eli loves you. He'd want to know if you're upset.
But he's already sad. About Mommy. I don't want to make him more sad.
Jesus. How much has this child been holding inside?
Come here, I say softly.
Mia climbs into my lap. I wrap my arms around her, rocking gently.
It's okay to be sad, I tell her. It's okay to miss your mommy. And it's okay to tell Uncle Eli when you're scared or upset. He wants to help you.
But what if he leaves too? Her voice is so small. Like Mommy did. Like Daddy did.
Your uncle isn't going anywhere. He loves you so much.
Do you love me?
The question catches me completely off guard.
I barely know this child. I've been in her life for approximately six hours.
But when she looks up at me with those tear-stained cheeks and hopeful eyes, I can't lie.
Yes, I say. I do.
And I realize I mean it.
Somehow, in the space of one evening, this little girl has worked her way into my heart.
Will you stay? Even when Uncle Eli makes you mad? Mommy used to say Daddy made her mad sometimes but she loved him anyway.
Oh, sweetie.
Yes, I'll stay. The lie tastes bitter. Even when Uncle Eli makes me mad.
She snuggles closer. Good. Because I don't want you to go to heaven too.
My eyes burn with tears I'm desperately trying to hold back.
I'm not going to heaven anytime soon, I promise. I'm right here.
We sit like that for a while. Her breathing eventually evens out. The tears stop.
Cassandra? she mumbles, half-asleep now.
Yes?
Can you sing? Mommy used to sing to me.
I'm not a very good singer.
That's okay.
I search my mind for a song. End up with a lullaby my own mother used to sing to me, back before she got sick.
I sing quietly. Off-key. Stumbling over words I half-remember.
But Mia doesn't care. She closes her eyes, relaxing against me.
By the end, she's almost asleep.
Do you want to go back to bed? I whisper.
Can I sleep with you?
I shouldn't. This is supposed to be a temporary arrangement. I shouldn't get attached. Shouldn't let her get attached to me.
But when she looks at me like that
Yes, I say. Come on.
I carry her to my room. She's light, fragile. All bones and trust.
We climb into bed together. She curls up against my side, Mr. Hopps tucked between us.
Cassandra?
Hmm?
I'm glad Uncle Eli married you.
My throat closes up. Me too, sweetie.
You won't leave when I'm bad, right? I try to be good but sometimes I forget.
You're not bad, Mia. You're perfect. And I won't leave.
Liar, my conscience whispers. In eighty-nine days, you're gone.
But I push that thought away. Deal with it later.
Right now, this little girl needs comfort. Needs stability.
Needs someone to promise they won't abandon her.
Even if it's a lie.
She falls asleep within minutes, her breathing soft and steady.
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what I've done.
This was supposed to be simple. A business arrangement. Ninety days and out.
But nothing about a five-year-old girl crying for her dead mother is simple.
Nothing about promising to stay when you know you're leaving is simple.
I'm in over my head.
I wake up to find Elijah standing in my doorway.
Sunlight streams through the windows. Mia is still curled up next to me, fast asleep.
I'm sorry, I whisper, careful not to wake her. She had a nightmare. She asked to sleep here.
Elijah's expression is unreadable. It's fine. Thank you for taking care of her.
Of course.
He's in running clothes athletic shorts, t-shirt. His hair is slightly damp with sweat. He must have just gotten back from a morning run.
He looks good. Annoyingly good.
I have to shower and get to the office, he says. I left coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever you need.
Thanks.
He hesitates. Did she tell you what the nightmare was about?
Her mom.
Pain flickers across his face. She gets them sometimes. Usually on Thursdays. That's the day He stops. Takes a breath. The day her mother died was a Thursday.
Oh God.
I'm sorry. I didn't know.
How could you? He looks at Mia, sleeping peacefully now. She pretends she's fine. Acts happy, plays with her toys. But at night, it all comes out.
She's worried about you, I say softly. She said she doesn't want to bother you because you're sad too.
Elijah closes his eyes. Jesus. She's five years old. She shouldn't be worried about me.
She loves you. That's what people do when they love someone.
He opens his eyes, looks at me. Did you sleep at all?
A little.
Thank you. Really. For being here. For helping with this. He gestures vaguely. I know it's not what you signed up for.
Actually, I did sign up for it. It's in the contract act as stepparent for appearance purposes.
But this doesn't feel like acting.
This feels real.
It's fine, I say. She's a good kid.
She is. He lingers for another moment. I should go. I have a meeting at nine.
Okay.
He leaves. I hear the shower start down the hall.
Mia stirs, opens her eyes. Looks confused for a moment, then remembers where she is.
Morning, I say softly.
Morning. She yawns. Thank you for letting me sleep here.
Anytime.
She sits up, clutching Mr. Hopps. Are you mad?
Why would I be mad?
Because I cried. Daddy used to get mad when I cried.
I want to find this man dead though he I sand shake him.
I'm not mad, Mia. You can always tell me when you're sad or scared. That's what I'm here for.
She studies me seriously. Promise?
Promise.
She smiles. Can we have tea party now?
I glance at the clock. 7:15 AM. How about after breakfast? Uncle Eli is getting ready for work. We should eat something healthy first.
Can we have pancakes?
I can try to make pancakes. But I'm not a very good cook.
That's okay. I like burnt pancakes.
I laugh. Good. Because that's probably what you're getting.
We go to the kitchen. I find mix in the pantry, manage to make reasonably acceptable pancakes. Mia sits at the counter, swinging her legs, chattering about school and her friend Sophie and a boy named Marcus who pulled her hair yesterday.
She's so normal. So sweet.
It's easy to forget she's lost both parents. Easy to forget she's the subject of a custody battle.
Easy to forget this is temporary.
Elijah appears in a suit, briefcase in hand. He looks every inch the successful CEO.
Pancakes? He sounds surprised.
Cassandra made them! Mia announces proudly. They're only a little burnt!
High praise, I mutter.
Elijah almost smiles. Save me one for tonight?
Sure.
He kisses Mia's head. Be good for Cassandra today.
I will!
Then he looks at me. Hesitates. Like he's not sure what the protocol is.
We're married. We live together. We should probably kiss goodbye.
But we're also strangers. Faking this whole thing.
In the end, he just says, Have a good day.
You too.
He leaves.
Mia and I finish breakfast. I help her get dressed. Brush her hairshe has so much of it, dark and curly.
Mommy used to braid it, she says wistfully.
I can try.
I make a valiant attempt at a braid. It's lopsided and messy, but Mia loves it.
You're the best! she declares.
If only she knew how little I have to compare this to. How out of my depth I am.
We have the promised tea party. Mia sets up her plastic tea set, arranges her stuffed animals around the table, pours imaginary tea.
Mr. Hopps wants to know if you like being married to Uncle Eli, she says in a higher voice, clearly speaking for the rabbit.
I freeze. What?
Mr. Hopps says Uncle Eli smiles more now. He wants to know if you're happy too.
This child is five years old and she's already better at reading people than most adults.
Yes, I say carefully. I'm happy.
Good. Because Uncle Eli needs someone to make him smile. He's been sad for a long time.
Since your mom died?
She nods. And before that. When he and Aunt Sarah would fight.
Aunt Sarah?
Who's Aunt Sarah?
But before I can ask, the doorbell rings.
I'm not expecting anyone.
I look through the peephole. It's a woman late fifties, expensive clothes, cold eyes.
She doesn't look friendly.
I open the door with the chain still on. Yes?
I'm looking for Elijah Morgan. I'm Margaret Whitmore. Mia's grandmother.
My blood runs cold.
The Whitmores. The people trying to take Mia away.
And I just opened the door.