My parents always asked me to watch my stepsister. One night, when she was about six or seven, I invited her to join me for a movie. She went to her room to change into pajamas and called back, almost excitedly:
“Mom says I can watch the movie with you!”
At first, I thought she meant out of excitement. But her mom had recently passed away, so I hesitated. Fear prickled beneath my ribs.
I swallowed unease and said, “Sure, she can watch it with us.” Her face lit up with a bright, innocent grin. “Okay! I’ll go tell her!”
She dashed off with such conviction that any hint of her mother’s absence being real seemed fleeting.
I laughed it off as a child’s imaginary friend coping with grief… until the memory withered into something more unnerving years later.
Now, sometimes in the dark, I remember that moment—and I can’t help but wonder: Was she playing innocent, or testing how far belief can stretch?
