“He just needs time,” Rachel would interrupt, though her own voice was filled with doubt.
The Thompsons’ house had a backyard garden. It wasn’t big, but Rachel cared for it with devotion. Rose bushes she had planted when they married, almost ten years ago now, bloomed in shades of pink and red. A small cherry tree offered generous shade in the summer. It was a well-kept lawn where they had always imagined children would one day play. And in the quietest corner of the garden, protected by the rose bushes, there was a niche, old, made of stone, about five feet tall.
Inside the niche stood a statue of the Virgin Mary. The statue was marble, about three feet high. The Virgin Mary was depicted with her hands extended forward, as if offering something. Her serene face was sculpted with delicate detail, and her robe was painted a soft blue that time and Denver’s weather had made even more beautiful, almost ethereal. The statue had belonged to Rachel’s grandmother. When she passed away two years earlier, Rachel brought the image and placed it in the garden. Michael thought it was beautiful. Rachel found it comforting, like keeping a piece of her grandmother close. Neither of them ever imagined that Ethan would be the one to connect with it the most.
It was on a Saturday afternoon, three weeks after Ethan had arrived, that Rachel noticed for the first time. She was in the kitchen preparing lunch when she looked out the window facing the garden. Ethan was outside, a few toys scattered on the grass. But Ethan wasn’t playing. He was standing in front of the niche, completely still, his small hands gently touching the stone edge. His head was tilted back, eyes fixed on the statue of the Virgin Mary. Rachel smiled softly. Maybe Ethan was finally starting to feel comfortable.
The next day, it happened again. Right after breakfast, Ethan asked—for the first time truly asking for something—”Can I go outside?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Rachel said, surprised and happy by the request.
She watched from the kitchen window as Ethan stepped out the back door and walked straight toward the niche. He didn’t stop to look at the toys. He didn’t hesitate. He walked with purpose to that quiet corner of the garden. And that’s when Rachel realized Ethan was talking. Not loud enough for her to hear the words, but definitely talking. His small lips were moving. He paused, as if listening to answers, then spoke again with that same intense seriousness she had already noticed in him.
Rachel wiped her hands on the dish towel and walked out to the garden. Ethan didn’t hear her approach; he was completely absorbed. Rachel felt something tighten in her chest. She cleared her throat softly. Ethan turned quickly, eyes wide. For a moment, he looked like a little boy caught doing something wrong.
“Ethan,” Rachel approached slowly. “Who were you talking to, sweetheart?”
Ethan looked at the image, then back at Rachel. “To the Lady in Blue.”
Rachel felt a slight chill run down her spine. “The Lady in Blue?”
“She…” Ethan pointed to the image of the Virgin Mary. “She’s very kind.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say. It was a child’s imagination, completely normal for his age. Small children often created imaginary friends, especially those going through big changes.
“And what does she say?” Rachel asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
Ethan hesitated, as if unsure whether he should share. “Important things. She says you want me to stay. That you’re not going to send me away.”
Rachel felt tears burn her eyes. She knelt on the damp grass so she was at Ethan’s height. “Ethan, look at me.” He obeyed, those blue eyes meeting hers. “You’re not going anywhere. This is your home now, forever.”
Ethan looked at her for a long moment. “That’s what she said, too.”
Rachel didn’t mention the conversation to Michael yet. She didn’t want to worry him for no reason. It was just childish imagination, a way for Ethan to process everything that was happening.
During the following week, a routine settled in. Every day when he came home from the daycare where Rachel had enrolled him, Ethan asked to go to the garden. He went straight to the niche. He talked, always quietly, always seriously, for about ten minutes. Then he played a little with his toys, finally starting to act a bit more like a three-year-old. Rachel watched through the window. Part of her found it sweet; part of her was slightly worried. But Ethan seemed happy when he talked to the image.
It was on a Thursday, two weeks after Rachel first saw the conversations, that everything changed. Ethan was in the garden, talking as usual, when suddenly he stood up quickly and ran into the house—not calmly, but with urgency. He burst through the kitchen door where Rachel was preparing dinner.
“Mom Rachel!” It was the first time he called her Mom. “Mom Rachel, something’s wrong at Mr. Harrison’s house.”
Rachel dropped the knife she was holding. “What did you say?”
“The Lady in Blue told me. Something’s wrong at Mr. Harrison’s house. Something that smells bad and is dangerous. She said we have to tell him right now.”
Mr. Harrison was the elderly neighbor who lived alone in the house next door. Widowed for five years, he was kind but reserved. Rachel saw him occasionally when he watered his own garden.
“Ethan, how do you… please?”
Ethan grabbed her hand with surprising strength for such a small child. “She said it’s urgent.”
Something in Ethan’s absolute seriousness, those blue eyes fixed on her, that urgency in his voice, made Rachel hesitate. You know that feeling when something inside you tells you to pay attention, even when it doesn’t make logical sense? Rachel felt that….
