The morning sun filtered softly through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the wooden floor of the living room. Catherine sat cross-legged among a scattered array of colored paper, her tiny fingers meticulously folding and creasing. An array of imperfect origami animals surrounded her—a paper zoo in the making. She carefully fashioned the wings of a crane, her tongue peeking out in concentration.
"Mama, look! I'm making the crane you showed me," Catherine called out, her voice bright with anticipation.
Silence answered her.
She glanced up to see Hana seated by the window, gazing out at the garden with a distant expression. Her hands lay idle in her lap, and the usual warm smile that Catherine adored was nowhere to be found. The vibrant energy that once radiated from her mother had dimmed, replaced by a quiet stillness that the little girl couldn't understand.
Catherine rose, clutching the paper crane, and padded over to Hana. "Mama?" she said softly. "See? I did it just like you taught me."
Hana blinked slowly, turning her head as if pulled from a faraway place. Her eyes met Catherine's, and for a fleeting moment, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "It's beautiful, Cathy," she whispered.
Emboldened, Catherine climbed onto the chair beside her mother. "Will you help me make another one?" she asked, holding out a fresh sheet of paper.
Hana hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the window. "Maybe later, sweetheart," she replied, her voice barely audible. Gently, she brushed a stray lock of hair from Catherine's forehead. "Why don't you play for a bit? Mama needs to rest."
Confusion clouded Catherine's eyes. "But we always make them together," she insisted. "Are you feeling okay? Do you have a tummy ache?"
Hana's hand lingered on Catherine's cheek before she withdrew it. "I'm just a little tired," she said, attempting reassurance. "Go on now."
Reluctantly, Catherine slid off the chair. "Okay," she mumbled, casting a worried glance over her shoulder as she returned to her paper animals. She arranged them in a neat row, pretending they were on a grand adventure, but the joy of play felt muted without her mother's enthusiasm.
The sound of the front door opening drew her attention. "Daddy's home!" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet. She raced to the entrance hall to greet him.
Eric stepped inside, his expression strained. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usual tidy appearance was uncharacteristically disheveled. He set his briefcase down with a heavy sigh.
"Welcome home, Daddy," Catherine said, wrapping her arms around his leg.
He patted her head absently. "Hello, Cathy," he replied, his gaze already drifting past her. "Where's your mother?"
"She's in the living room. She's really quiet today," Catherine said, tilting her head to look up at him. "Maybe you can make her feel better?"
Eric's jaw tightened. "Go play in your room for a while, okay? I need to talk to Mama."
Something in his tone made Catherine's chest feel tight. "But—"
"Now, Catherine," he insisted, his eyes stern.
She nodded slowly. "Yes, Daddy." She watched as he walked away, the weight of unspoken worries hanging in the air. Retreating to her bedroom, she sat on her bed hugging her stuffed rabbit, Mr. Floppy, her small world feeling inexplicably off-kilter.
Pressing her ear against the door, she tried to catch fragments of her parents' conversation. Their voices were low and muffled, but the tension was palpable even from afar. She heard her father's strained murmur and her mother's quiet replies. Occasionally, a silence would stretch uncomfortably, filled only by the ticking of the hallway clock.
That evening, dinner was a silent affair. The clatter of chopsticks against bowls was the only sound punctuating the stillness. Catherine looked from her mother to her father, searching their faces for a hint of the warmth that usually filled their home.
"May I be excused?" she asked softly, her appetite gone.
Eric nodded without looking up. "Yes."
She slipped away from the table, feeling a knot of worry settle in her stomach. Back in the living room, she resumed folding origami, hoping it would bring back a sense of normalcy. After a while, she gathered her creations and ventured back to her parents.
"Look, Mama, Papa—I made a whole family of cranes," she announced, laying them out on the table.
Hana glanced briefly at the colorful array. "They're lovely," she said, her smile not reaching her eyes.
Eric stood abruptly. "I have work to do," he muttered, leaving the room before Catherine could reply.
Catherine's shoulders sagged. "Do you want to make a wish with me?" she asked Hana, holding up the smallest crane. "You always said that if we make a thousand, our wish will come true."
Hana's eyes glistened as she looked at her daughter. "Oh, Cathy," she whispered. She knelt down and pulled Catherine into a gentle embrace. For a moment, Catherine felt the familiar comfort of her mother's arms, and she closed her eyes, wishing silently for things to go back to the way they were.
But as quickly as it came, the embrace ended. Hana released her and stood up. "It's time for bed," she said softly. "Go brush your teeth."
Catherine wanted to protest, to ask why everything felt different, but the words tangled in her throat. She nodded meekly and walked toward the bathroom, the soft padding of her footsteps echoing in the quiet house.
That night, she lay awake in bed, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. The murmur of her parents' voices had ceased, replaced by a heavy silence that pressed down on her. Hugging Mr. Floppy tightly, she whispered into the darkness, "Please let Mama smile again. Please let everything be okay."
The moonlight cast a pale glow through the window, illuminating the row of origami cranes lined up on her dresser. They stood as silent guardians, fragile yet hopeful. Catherine fixated on them, determined to fold more tomorrow. If making a thousand cranes could grant her wish, then she would do it. She had to.
In the days that followed, the silence in the house deepened. Hana spent hours by the window or secluded in her bedroom. She spoke little, her responses to Catherine's questions brief and distant. Eric became more absent, leaving early in the mornings and returning late at night. When he was home, his interactions were curt, and he seemed lost in his own worries.
Catherine found herself navigating this new landscape alone. The vibrant laughter and shared stories were replaced with hushed voices and closed doors. She longed to break through the invisible barrier that had sprung up between her and her parents but didn't know how.
One afternoon, mustering her courage, Catherine approached Hana with a stack of colored paper and a hopeful smile. "Mama, will you help me make more cranes? I'm getting better at the tricky folds."
Hana looked up, her eyes shadowed and weary. "Not right now, Cathy," she said gently. "Maybe later."
"But you always say 'maybe later,'" Catherine replied, her voice tinged with desperation. "You never have time anymore."
A flicker of pain crossed Hana's face. She reached out as if to touch Catherine's cheek but then pulled her hand back. "I'm sorry," she whispered, turning away.
Catherine's chest tightened. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, her eyes brimming with tears.
Hana shook her head, her back still turned. "No, sweetheart. You haven't done anything wrong. Mama just... needs some time."
Unable to hold back any longer, Catherine let the tears spill over. "I miss you," she cried softly. "I miss making cranes and telling stories and—"
Hana's shoulders trembled. "Please, Cathy," she said, her voice strained. "Just give me some space."
Catherine stood there for a moment, the weight of her mother's words sinking in. Clutching the papers to her chest, she turned and retreated to her room, the sense of isolation engulfing her.
She spent the rest of the day immersed in her folding, the repetitive motions offering a semblance of comfort. With each new crane, she whispered a wish, her determination unwavering.
That evening, as dusk settled, Catherine glanced out her window to see Hana standing alone in the garden, the soft breeze rustling her hair. She seemed like a distant figure, unreachable despite the closeness.
"Why is everything changing?" Catherine murmured to herself.
From downstairs, she heard the front door open and close, signaling Eric's departure once more. The emptiness of the house echoed in the quiet.
Catherine lay down, pulling the covers up to her chin. She closed her eyes tightly, imagining the days when laughter filled the rooms and warmth embraced her at every turn. Clinging to those memories, she let herself drift into an uneasy sleep, the silence of the night her only companion.