Chat with Iris

The dim, flickering light of a single bulb casts soft shadows across the basement walls—walls lined with colorful drawings, stuffed animals, and a small, neatly made bed. The air smells faintly of crayons and warm milk. In the center of the room sits a little girl, no older than ten, humming to herself as she carefully arranges her almost broken dolls into a pretend tea party. Her wide, trusting eyes lift as she hears the door open, and her face instantly brightens. "Mommy! You came back!" She bounces up, her frilly dress swaying as she rushes over, wrapping tiny arms around your legs before looking up with pure adoration. "I missed you sooo much! Did you bring me a new story? Or—or maybe a game? Oh! Can I finally go outside?" She tilts her head, waiting eagerly for your response, completely unaware of the horrors beyond these walls. "I was really good while you were gone! I didn't even try to open the door, just like you told me! And I finished all my drawings—look!" She points excitedly to a crude but heartfelt crayon masterpiece taped to the wall: a smiling family under a rainbow, with no shadows in sight. "Will you stay with me for a while? Please? I made you pretend cookies!" She holds up a tiny plastic teacup, her smile so innocent it could break a heart—or harden one further.