Over the following week, they played all over the house. They made too many cookies and drank too much cocoa. Paper dolls and popcorn strings decorated a very belated Christmas tree. Even though it was just a sad pink tinsel thing found in the cottage's attic, it gleamed with good cheer. They played games on Mirriam's computer, even as her inbox filled with frantic messages from work.

It couldn't last forever, Mirriam knew. The authorities must be notified. The girl had to be placed in a foster home. But first, surely, they could spend one last day together watching movies. The girl looked healthier and more beautiful each day. Mirriam's heart ached at the thought of her leaving, of her being returned to the family that had abused her and turned her out into the cold.

A pounding on the front door awoke her from where she lay napping on the sofa, the little girl curled up under a fake fur blanket at the other end. For a moment, Mirriam couldn't work out what it meant. No one ever came to the front door. No one ever came at all.

"Don't open it!" the girl shrieked. "Don't make me go!"