As the final bell rang for school to end and the students were slowly picked up by their parents, I found myself alone with Maya. While she hadn’t been quite as shy with me today, she was still quiet without her father beside her. She didn’t want to make friends, or raise her hand...she just wanted to be left alone.

Maya sat on her chair, coloring as I tidied the classroom, just like the night before. This time was different. Instead of waiting around for her father— ‘Simon. Her father is Simon Hayes.’ I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as I glanced at Maya’s determined face.

This time, I’d be looking after her.

‘He trusts me to look after her.’ I had to make sure that Simon’s faith in me hadn’t been misplaced. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries or make Maya feel uncomfortable.

I looked at the bin of markers to be put away, then again at Maya. I walked over to her, kneeling as I asked cheerfully, “Would you like to help me put these away?”

She looked at the jumble of markers, then at her picture. “No,” she muttered quietly, continuing to color.

‘She misses her dad,’ I had to remind myself. “What about the sticker book? Would you like to look at that?” I tried to smile and mask my self-consciousness, but it did no good.

She glowered at the sticker book sitting on my desk, shaking her mane of auburn hair. It was the only part of her that didn’t resemble Simon. “I don’t wanna. I already looked at it before.”

I nodded, sighing in defeat. “Okay, I’ll finish up soon then.” I gave her another reassuring smile, but she was concentrating again on her picture. I grimaced, a whole slew of worries filling my mind. ‘What if she tells Simon she hates me? What if she does hate me?’

After putting away the last of the markers I walked over to the cubbies, grabbing Maya’s things, and brought them over to her. “So, what would you like for dinner?” I asked, trying to be gentle as I offered to help her with her coat.

She fidgeted, glancing up at me, then to her jacket. “I can do it myself,” she grumbled, snatching the coat out of my hands and fumbling to put it on.

“Oh...right,” I said under my breath as I watched her, wanting desperately to help her get her arm properly through the sleeve. I cleared my throat, asking again, “So, for dinner, I was thinking—”

“Not hungry!” She managed to get her arm through, grabbing the picture and stuffing it into her backpack, which she put on angrily.

I had to remember it wasn’t toward anything I had done, only that I wasn’t Simon. I allowed her a moment to stomp out of the classroom as I gathered my things and put on my own winter clothes. I gave the room one last glance to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything before locking the door and joining her out in the hall.

I offered her my hand, hesitantly as I said, “Can you please hold my hand? We’re going to be going on a busy road.”

She pouted at it, turning her face away. “Don’t wanna.”

I didn’t want to be firm. I didn’t want her to feel like I was mean, or not understanding. I crouched down, giving her arm a small poke so that she would turn and face me. “Miss Maya,” I said, remaining calm and attentive, “I know you miss your dad. But he’ll be back soon! And we’ll have lots of fun and I’ll make you a nice dinner! How does that sound?”

She turned very slowly to face me with her large hazel eyes full of tears. She was sniffing, her nose dripping, as she wiped it on the back of her hand. “I miss my mommy,” she cried, sobbing in loud wet hiccups.

I felt the shock show on my face as my eyes widened. I hadn’t been expecting it, had no idea what to say to her… I couldn’t reassure her, there was nothing I could say. Her mother was gone, and unlike her father, not coming back. “Hey,” I whispered, patting her back slightly. “Your dad will be home soon, okay? Can you please take my hand and we’ll head home together?”

She looked at my outstretched palm, snuffling, her bottom lip still quivering as she took it silently. It was a sinking, awful feeling as I led her outside and into the dark, snowy cold. The walk to the bus stop was silent, as was the bus ride to the quiet, residential street. It wasn’t as long a ride as I normally took, nor was it in the same direction. Getting home and so late would be a long commute; one I hadn’t thought of before agreeing to watch Maya.

As I looked down at her, her small mitted hand in mine, I knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. I’d figure it out later. All that mattered at that moment was the little girl who had told me that she missed her mother, and whose father was working so hard to provide for her, he was relying on her teacher to take her home.

The house was small and detached, the front lawn covered in a thin layer of frost and snow. It was well kept on the outside, the large porch neat and inviting. I could see a swing that was probably out of commission for the winter but imagined it would be nice to sit on in the summer. It would have made a beautiful garden for flowers.

I let go of Maya’s hand, taking the spare key from her bag. As I put the key in the lock I felt something large collide with the door before a booming bark echoed through it. I blinked at Maya, asking, “You have a dog?”

She didn’t seem to hear me as she wriggled past me and opened the front door. The hall light was already on, revealing shoes and a wall-mounted coat rack. I only had a split second to register the entryway before a massive white mass of fluff came bounding into my legs. “Ah! Whoa,” I laughed, hearing the large dog pant with its tail wagging.

I reached down to ruffle its ears but it ran back into the house upon realizing I was not its master. Maya kicked off her boots and threw off her bag as soon as she was through the front door, running after the dog.

As I stepped into the house—my glasses fogging up as my heartbeat anxiously and I closed the door—it was very clear that my task for the evening was not to befriend Maya, or find the solutions to how she was feeling. All I was asked to do was look after her. I would make dinner, get her ready for bed, and wait for Simon to come home.

After finding not much to work with in terms of dinner—only some pasta and marinara sauce with some frozen vegetables—Maya was rather eager to get to bed. She brushed her teeth without a fuss and got into her pyjamas on her own. She only smiled when the dog—Bear, I had been informed—was playing with her. She hadn’t wanted a story, acting very grown up as I turned on the nightlight and closed the door partway.

I felt myself sigh in relief, looking around the beautifully laid-out and utterly messy home. There were toys absolutely everywhere, crayon markings on the walls… I wondered if Maya really would fall asleep or if she would secretly stay up until her father came home.

‘Simon…where are you?’