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No Map for the Heart

The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of the little apartment in Buenos Aires, casting golden stripes across the bed. Hazel lay curled up under a soft blanket, her little chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep — until her brows pinched and a small sound escaped her lips.
“Dada…” she murmured, barely audible.
Then she blinked awake, disoriented, her big eyes filling with tears as the emptiness beside her settled in. She sat up slowly, her blanket slipping off her shoulders, and looked around the room with a shaky breath.
“Dada?” Her voice cracked.
There was no answer. Just the quiet hum of the city outside.
Hazel whimpered, then began to cry, soft and desperate. “Daaadaa…”
Emma, in the next room, froze the moment she heard it. She dropped the half-folded shirt in her hands and rushed back in.
Hazel was sitting on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, arms reaching out for someone who wasn’t there. Emma scooped her up gently, cradling her close.
“Oh, baby… I’m here. Mama’s here.” She kissed her temple, her own eyes glistening. “Shh, I know you miss him…”
Hazel buried her face in Emma’s shoulder, still sniffling, still whispering for her dad.
Emma closed her eyes, holding her tightly. “I promise — we’ll find him. I swear it.”
Emma held Hazel tighter as the little girl whimpered in her arms, her tiny fists clutching at Emma’s shirt like it was the only anchor she had left.
Her daughter’s tears pierced through every wall she had built in the past month. She had surfed through storms, crossed borders chasing freedom—but nothing hit harder than Hazel's trembling voice asking for her father.
“Dada…”
It shattered something in her.
Emma’s throat tightened. Her chest ached with a pressure she hadn’t let herself feel—not until now. Not until Hazel said the one word she hadn’t dared to speak herself.
Her hand ran gently over Hazel’s soft curls as she rocked her, biting down hard on the flood of emotion building inside her.