A Mother's Fight for Justice

My name is Lydia Collins. I'm thirty years old, married to my husband, Jimmy Young, for five years. We have four-year-old twin daughters—the elder is Daisy, and the younger is Nola. Daisy has a quiet temperament; her voice always carries a timid, gentle softness. Nola is livelier than her sister, her eyes constantly darting around, as if harboring a head full of little schemes. Jimmy works as a project leader at a tech company and is usually so busy, he barely has time to rest. But no matter how exhausted he was when he came home, he would always hug our daughters first, rubbing his stubble against them until they giggled. A month ago, Jimmy Young told me he was going abroad to negotiate an important deal. Before he left, he knelt by the entrance, repeatedly stroking his daughters' heads, reminding me to take good care of them. He even smiled and promised to bring the most beautiful doll from overseas for the girls. At the time, I just thought it was one of his countless business trips and didn't give it much thought. After Jimmy Young left, the house fell into a deep silence. Every afternoon at three, the sunlight bathed the cobblestone path in the center square of our residential community with a warm glow. At that moment, I would carry the pink cartoon insulated box I ordered online and take Daisy and Nola to sell ice cream. The insulated box was decorated with their favorite little bunny pattern, lace stitched along the edges. The first time the two kids met, their eyes sparkled like stars. My family isn't short of money; Jimmy Young's salary is more than enough to cover our expenses. I did this because I noticed my daughters were very shy around strangers. At the last parent-child event in our residential community, other children surrounded the teacher, singing and dancing. But my girls hid behind me, afraid to look up, and my heart ached with worry. I want to have them sell ice cream to help them interact more with others and build their social skills. Every day before we leave, Daisy and Nola take it upon themselves to organize the insulated box. Daisy carefully arranges the different ice cream flavors, lining up the strawberry and chocolate separately. If the packaging is crooked, she gently smooths it out. Nola is in charge of checking that the insulated box lid is securely closed and hanging the coin purse on the handle. Her small hand grips the bag's opening tightly, afraid the coins might fall out. At first, they were clumsy with their motions, but after finishing, they'd look up at me with their little faces, waiting for me to say, "Good job, my darlings!" I looked at their earnest faces, my heart melting, and gently tousled their hair. Then I took their little hands and walked towards the square. The ice cream sales had been especially good these past couple of days. At three in the afternoon in the square, many elderly people were out walking with children, and some young people off work passed by. Ms. Clark and Mr. Lee from the residential community saw Daisy and Nola. They wore pale pink dresses, their hair tied in perky twin braids, crouching beside the insulated box. When someone asked the price, they shyly handed over the ice cream, and Ms. Clark and Mr. Lee would always stop with a smile. Ms. Clark bought two strawberry-flavored ice creams, took out some change to pay, and couldn't help but stroke Daisy's cheek. She praised them for being sensible, saying they were so young yet already helping their mother with chores. At first, Daisy hid behind me, tugging at my clothes; her ears turned red when she heard the compliments. Later, as she grew bolder, whenever someone bought ice cream, she would quietly say, "Thank you, Mr./Ms." Her voice was soft but full of earnestness. Nola took charge of counting the loose change, her small hands carefully picking up and counting every coin. If I miscounted, I would furrow my brows and count again, only putting the money into the coin purse once I was certain it was correct. Watching the child change little by little, my heart filled with comfort, convinced that this decision was right.