Eliza

3

—DANTE—

I smile when I hear Eliza's giggles from the bathroom, followed by Mia's.

     "Mama, bubbles!"

     Mia laughs, and I realise I forgot how much I missed the sound.

     "Here, baby, let's get your hair washed." I hear her say. The walls are thin, so I can hear every word they both say from my place in the living room.

I lean back on the couch and message my brother to check in on my other kids.

ME: Are the boys okay?

MICHAEL: They're fine. Easton's sleeping.

     He follows his text up with a picture of my youngest son, asleep in his little bed. I save it to my camera roll as my smile widens.

     ME: How's Emilio?

     My oldest son—Emilio—who wasn't exactly ecstatic about his mother returning once I called to tell him while they were packing.

     MICHAEL: He's been sulking in his room all day. He won't come out. He's eaten though.

     I sigh.

     MICHAEL: He'll be fine though.

ME: I hope so.

     I turn my phone off when I hear the bathroom door open. Eliza waddles out in a narwhal dressing gown, a huge grin on her face that fades when she sees me. I smile at her, but she just stares blankly at me for a few seconds before her eyes narrow into an adorable little glare.

     "Come on, baby, let's get you changed." Mia says, snatching her attention.

     "Hmph." Eliza crosses her arms and walks behind her mother, into the bedroom.

     My smile lingers until long after she goes.

—

I wake up when a small finger pokes my cheek.

     My eyes open to see a sleepy, adorable and angry Eliza standing in front of me, beside the couch I've turned into an—albeit small and uncomfortable—bed. She has her arms crossed over her chest, and the pyjamas she's wearing seem to be too big for her.

     "Take me and my mama back!" She exclaims.

     "Eliza." I sigh, sitting up and leaning against the arm of the leather couch. She glares at me as I shuffle aside, making space for her. "Why don't you sit down and we can talk?"

     She shakes her head. "I don't want to sit by you."

     I frown. "Okay. That's okay. How about I sit on the floor and you sit on the couch?" I suggest.

     She seems to consider it for a moment before nodding. "Fine."

     I smile despite myself and slide down onto the floor as she pulls herself up onto the couch. Her feet—clad in blue fluffy socks—are a long way from touching the floor.