Six years old – an age when a child should feel warmth, care, and the love of their parents. But for little Liza, things were different. She had already grown used to her mom and dad often going away “on errands” and leaving her alone. Each time they promised to come back soon, but that “soon” turned into long days.
That’s what happened this time as well. The autumn wind howled outside the window, and the house was cold. The parents left half a loaf of bread and a bottle of water on the table. “Be patient, we’ll be back soon. Don’t leave the house, or it will be bad for you,” her mother said hurriedly as she pulled on her coat.
In the first hours, Liza waited. She counted the minutes and whispered to her dolls that her mom would be there any moment. Then the days began to blend into one endless, gray wait. She wrapped herself in a thin blanket, sat under the table, hiding from the darkness. When the bread was gone, she scraped the bowl with a spoon, hoping to find even a crumb.
But the nights were the worst. Liza covered her ears with her hands and trembled at every sound: the wind banging the shutters, the rats rustling under the floor, and sometimes it seemed to her that someone was walking in the hallway. The little girl whispered into the darkness:
— Mommy will come… mommy is here…
But there was no answer.
Instead of a joyful child’s cry, they heard only silence.
In the corner of the kitchen, sitting on the cold floor, was Liza. In front of her stood an empty bowl she had already licked clean. The girl’s face was pale, her eyes – empty. She didn’t run to them, she didn’t smile.
In a low voice, she kept repeating the same words over and over:
— I’m not hungry… I don’t want to eat anymore…
The parents froze. Their child, who just yesterday had been a cheerful little girl, now looked at them with eyes in which there was nothing childlike left – only a bottomless emptiness.
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