Bella always stands at the corner when the streetlight comes on, her red dress swaying like the petals of the flowers we used to pick by the river. I don’t know why she always waits there, talking to those men who never smile, but she looks so beautiful when she brushes her hair behind her ear. Sometimes, I see her wipe her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking. She tells me not to worry, hugs me tight, and promises she’ll be home before I wake up. Momma says Bella’s strong, stronger than most, and I believe it. Tonight, I’ll dream about the way she laughed when we played hide-and-seek last week. Tomorrow, I’ll tell her a joke, and we’ll laugh again. I’m happy she’ll be back to hug me in the morning.