I didn't know monsters could walk in the sun. But he did.
The first time he came to school, I heard him before I saw him. That voice—sharp, loud, thick with rage—cut through the hallway like a blade. I froze mid-step. The teacher paused at the board. Chairs scraped. Heads turned.
"Where is she? Laura!" he shouted.
My legs locked. I wanted to disappear into my seat. I could feel Lisa's hand grip mine beneath the desk. Tight. Too tight.
The door flew open. There he was.
In his arms was a woman. Pretty. Polished. Smiling like she didn't know who I was, or maybe like she did and didn't care. My father's voice boomed again.
"Tell them, baby. Don't she look just like me? Just like me!"
The class stared. The teacher stood frozen. No one knew what to do.
"Come on, Laura! Say hi to your new mother!"
My stomach twisted. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to run. I wanted the floor to open and eat me whole.
But I couldn't move.
Lisa stood before I could. "You need to leave," she said, voice trembling. "You can't be here."
My father's laugh filled the room. It was sharp and ugly. "Who the hell are you, little girl?"
The principal came eventually. Security. Whispered arguments in the hallway. The new woman never stopped smiling. My father never stopped looking at me.
He left. But I knew he'd be back.
---
The second time, it was recess. I was on the grass, watching Lisa sketch in the dirt with a stick. The sun was hot. The noise was loud. It made my chest feel tight.
Then I heard it again.
"Laura! There she is!"
He wasn't alone.
Two men stood behind him this time, arms folded. Security? Or just friends? I didn't know. I didn't wait to find out. My body moved before my brain did.
I ran.
I ran past the swings. Past the jungle gym. Past teachers yelling my name. I didn't stop until I was inside the school building, crouched behind a supply cart, hugging Lala so hard I felt the stitching shift.
Lisa found me minutes later. She sat beside me in silence.
That night, I didn't eat. Mama didn't ask why. I think she knew.
---
The third time was the worst.
He waited at the school gate.
He didn't shout.
He smiled.
And that made it worse.
Lisa saw him first and pulled me back by the sleeve. "Don't look," she whispered.
But I did.
And he waved. Slowly. Like we were friends. Like I'd done something wrong by not waving back.
My knees buckled.
The fear wasn't loud anymore. It was quiet. Cold. Settled in my bones.
I didn't cry. Not then. But that night, I curled beside Mama in bed and shook until morning.
---
He never hurt me in front of people.
But he didn't need to.
Because by then, I was already broken.
I flinched at laughter. I hated birthdays. I stopped answering questions in class. Even when I knew the answers.
I thought too much. I slept too little. I began to believe that I was just… a mistake. That I didn't belong anywhere.
Sometimes, I looked at my reflection and wondered if I was even real.
I kept Lala close. She was the only thing I talked to. The only one who listened without trying to fix me.
I stopped drawing. I stopped hoping.
Because I knew the world didn't care.
Not about little girls who saw too much.
And definitely not about girls like me.