Invisible

By Hugh Cartwright

It’s bedtime. Demons lurk.

“Mummy, I’m scared. Under my bed.”

“I’ve checked, darling,” I say. “No monsters.”

“The closet?”

“They got bored and flew away.”

I tuck her in and return to my single-mum chores downstairs.

Suddenly, screaming. “MUMMY. I NEED YOU!”

“Coming, darling.”

I plod back up.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Mummy?”

“What is it?”

“Mummy—I love the colour of your hair.”

I kiss her cheek. “Me too. Sleep well.” Snuggling down, she is asleep within moments.

I tramp downstairs once more.

I’ve told her she must be invisible after 6:30. I’m delighted she doesn’t know how to manage that.