When Mrs Kath Harris gripped my hands and begged me to help her reach her only daughter, I almost sneered. She was wealthy, beautiful and lived in a mansion most people would gladly trade an arm or leg for. What problems could someone like her possibly have? But I needed the job more than I needed my opinions.
The Harris estate was one of the most beautiful homes I'd ever seen. Staff moved efficiently through the halls tending to their duties yet there wasn't a single family member in sight.
“When do I meet Miss Susanne Harris?” I asked the house manager, a stiff-necked, stoic man with a plump build who carried himself like he owned the place. He didn't spare me a glance.
“Now. I'll take you to her room,” he said over his shoulders. “An hour every morning is all the time you'll have with her every day.”
He quickened his pace, forcing me to match it. My heels clicked loudly against the polished marble floors. “This is just a waste of time and money,” he muttered but I heard him.
I bit back a retort. If I had my way, he wouldn't be a manager of anything. Then again, it was no surprise that Susanne had become withdrawn growing up in this rigid environment.
The manager stopped before a pink door, knocked and quietly pushed it open. Inside was a spacious living room with a cushion and a low coffee table. Further in sat an eight year old girl constructing a miniature mansion from Lego bricks.
“Well, here's Susanne Harris. One hour, miss,” he said, turned and left the room.
I took off my shoes and moved toward the girl slowly. She glanced up from her work. Large brown eyes studied me with quiet curiosity. “Are you my new nanny?” She asked softly.
I shook my head and sat down on the rug beside her. “I'm your therapist….er, someone you can talk to about anything.”
She gazed at me for a moment and nodded. Then she reached for a ziplock filled with seashells of different colours, poured them on the table and began piecing them together.
For the next hour, we sat in complete silence as she transformed the seashells into a mosaic of her mother's face across the polished tabletop. It was one of the most beautiful artworks I'd ever seen.
“You miss your mother,” I said without preamble. Susanne looked at me and for a moment, I thought she might say something. Instead she lowered her gaze and returned to her Lego bricks.
When the manager escorted me out of the room to Mrs Kath Harris' office, my report was simple. “Please spend time with your daughter, ma'am and you'll both be fine.”
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "mosaic".
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Image created by AI using NightCafe Studio
