Hoppy stood behind her father, her fingers digging into his worn trousers. The two children at the doorway stopped their cheering, their smiles fading into confusion as they noticed the small, dusty girl hiding in the shadows. The older child, the same age of Hoppy, asked.
"Papa? Who is she? Why is she wearing those dirty clothes?"
Hoppy's father did not move. His breath came in shallow, panicked hitches. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the wind to push him over.
"Sh-she… She is…"
Before he could finish his sentence, a woman stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a clean, white apron. She was beautiful, with her hair tied back in a neat bun and a smile that vanished the moment her eyes landed on the doorway.
Her gaze did not stop at her husband. It slid downward, locking onto the small, mud-stained girl shivering behind him. She froze. her eyes moved from her husband's terrified face to Hoppy's wide eyes.
