TRAPPED

26

ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Adrien

"Ow!"

"Get off!"

I exhale a large breath and peel my eyes open. I climb out of bed slowly, looking briefly down at my wife, who lays on the other side of the mattress, fast asleep.

I walk out of the room, into the hall. Matteo and Julien are arguing, again, but now Julien is trying—and failing—to pin his big brother down to the floor.

I quickly lean down to grab him, lifting him up and setting him back onto the floor. I'm about to talk when I hear high pitched crying. I turn to them for a moment, "stop fighting." I say before rushing into the baby's room.

Celine is sitting in her cot, screaming the house down. I lift her up quickly, setting her on my hip as I lightly bounce her. "Shh, baby, it's okay." I whisper, rubbing my hand up and down her little back.

"Daddy!"

I sit down on the armchair in the corner of the room, where I usually read her her bedtime stories. She wraps her small arms around my waist and rests her head on my stomach, sobbing still.

"What's wrong?" I ask her gently.

Already, she has long dark brown hair. I run my hand through it and plant a kiss on her temple. She looks up at me, teary eyed.

"Why don't we get you some breakfast?"

She shakes her head, eyebrows furrowing in anger. She tries to stand up, so I set her down on the floor. She starts to cry again, holding onto the bottom of my leg.

My lips tick up at the corners as I lift her back into my arms. "Okay, do you wanna stay here for a little while?"

She nods. "Here."

I kiss her temple again.

PRESENT DAY
Adrien

Celine's door is wide open when I check again in the morning. My eyebrows knit together as I look inside, finding the bed ruffled yet empty.

"Celine?" I shout. There's no response. She's not in her bathroom. She's not on this floor, because I check. I check every room in the house until I know that she isn't here.

It's about six a.m., and it's pretty dark outside since it's winter. I get into my car and go to the one place I think she may be.

When I get to Isabel's house, there are lights on. I get out of the car quickly, then go inside.

"Celine!" I shout again.

I go upstairs, finding my daughter in the bathroom. I furrow my eyebrows, watching her for a moment. She's scrubbing the floor with a sponge, tears streaming down her face. She doesn't know that I'm here, only realising when I kneel down beside her and gently take it out of her grip.

"Celine," I repeat her name, "what are you doing?"

Her voice wobbles as she whispers: "mum doesn't like when things are a mess. There was all dried blood."