Prologue
”When is mom coming back?” the eight-year-old girl asked once more. He had heard her ask that question two-three times per day, for the past three weeks, and he had no idea what to answer her. What was he supposed to tell her? “Sorry kid, your mom’s in the looney bin and isn’t coming back. Wanna hear something funny? According to the doctors, she’s got a genetic disorder, so it may have been passed on to you.” Never in a million years would he ever tell her that. He couldn’t do that to her. What if the kids at her school found out that her mom was in a mental institution?
He knew that kids can be cruel. Kids get bullied for having a silly name, their physical appearance, what they happen to wear and an endless list of other things. She already had problems with bullying, for being brainy. He shivered at the thought what the kids could do with the ammunition of a mentally ill mother. Then there was the fact that the disorder was said to be genetic. If he told the girl, she’d be living in constant fear of something that may never come to be. He feared that the fear would rob her from living a good life. Afraid to get close to anyone, as she’d consider herself a ticking timebomb.
“Mom’s not coming back.” He finally managed to say.
“But, where is she?” The girl asked.
“I…I don’t know. She’s left us, sweetie.”
“Is she dead?” Tears began running down her cheeks. He knew he had to set things right.
“No… She’s just moved away.”
“Can’t we go with her?”
“No, where she’s gone, we can’t go with her. She wouldn’t want us to.”
“She’s not interested in me?!” The girl screamed and ran off to her room, slamming the door behind her. He hesitated to go after her. If he gave her a chance to calm down, maybe he could figure out the right thing to say. After two hours, he finally decided to go in there and talk to her. He stepped up to her door and knocked. “Sweetie?” He asked, as he opened to door and saw her sitting by her desk, with a Daily Planet newspaper and writing something on a notepad.
“What’s you doing?” He asked.
“I’m a reporter. Mom told me she was proud of an article I wrote for the school paper. If I become a journalist, mom will come back. She must come back.”
“Okay, sweetie. I’ll make us some pancakes.” He exited and closed the door behind him. He had no idea what to do. Beginning to figure that maybe he should let her be. He had never been too good at talking to her, so he didn’t know what to do know. All he could do was hoping that she’d calm down. Besides, all she did was write some stuff on a notepad. It’s not like she was doing something dangerous. No, an obsession with journalism, driven by mommy issues, would never get Chloe Sullivan in harm’s way.
”When is mom coming back?” the eight-year-old girl asked once more. He had heard her ask that question two-three times per day, for the past three weeks, and he had no idea what to answer her. What was he supposed to tell her? “Sorry kid, your mom’s in the looney bin and isn’t coming back. Wanna hear something funny? According to the doctors, she’s got a genetic disorder, so it may have been passed on to you.” Never in a million years would he ever tell her that. He couldn’t do that to her. What if the kids at her school found out that her mom was in a mental institution?
He knew that kids can be cruel. Kids get bullied for having a silly name, their physical appearance, what they happen to wear and an endless list of other things. She already had problems with bullying, for being brainy. He shivered at the thought what the kids could do with the ammunition of a mentally ill mother. Then there was the fact that the disorder was said to be genetic. If he told the girl, she’d be living in constant fear of something that may never come to be. He feared that the fear would rob her from living a good life. Afraid to get close to anyone, as she’d consider herself a ticking timebomb.
“Mom’s not coming back.” He finally managed to say.
“But, where is she?” The girl asked.
“I…I don’t know. She’s left us, sweetie.”
“Is she dead?” Tears began running down her cheeks. He knew he had to set things right.
“No… She’s just moved away.”
“Can’t we go with her?”
“No, where she’s gone, we can’t go with her. She wouldn’t want us to.”
“She’s not interested in me?!” The girl screamed and ran off to her room, slamming the door behind her. He hesitated to go after her. If he gave her a chance to calm down, maybe he could figure out the right thing to say. After two hours, he finally decided to go in there and talk to her. He stepped up to her door and knocked. “Sweetie?” He asked, as he opened to door and saw her sitting by her desk, with a Daily Planet newspaper and writing something on a notepad.
“What’s you doing?” He asked.
“I’m a reporter. Mom told me she was proud of an article I wrote for the school paper. If I become a journalist, mom will come back. She must come back.”
“Okay, sweetie. I’ll make us some pancakes.” He exited and closed the door behind him. He had no idea what to do. Beginning to figure that maybe he should let her be. He had never been too good at talking to her, so he didn’t know what to do know. All he could do was hoping that she’d calm down. Besides, all she did was write some stuff on a notepad. It’s not like she was doing something dangerous. No, an obsession with journalism, driven by mommy issues, would never get Chloe Sullivan in harm’s way.
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