Mar 22
Roses and Summer Dreams's picture

Sherlock Holmes

Restless, I open my eyes. Weird. I do not hear Hazel’s soft breathing. Instead, I hear footsteps. Deciding to go back to sleep, I lie down again, urging myself to just fall asleep. Just fall asleep. Just fall asleep. Just fall asleep…
Briiiiiiiiing! Alarm clocks. Being a parent of a six-month-old baby, means that I lose patience and most of all; sleep. I walk angrily to Hazel’s crib. Staring at her, I realize her eye shape is different. The yellow stripes on her onesie were closer together. Usually, George  would tell me that I was hallucinating or just finding an excuse to panic. No. This was serious.
Where was the real Hazel? I grab the phone and quickly dial nine-one-one. Fake Hazel is crying as I impatiently stomp my foot on the bedroom floor. George comes running in.
“What’s the matter, Honey??!” he cries, tears forming.
I wail: “Hazel has been stolen! This is not her!” He slowly calms down. Grabbing the phone, he tells me to go back to sleep. I push back. This is my daughter. No matter if anyone believes me, I have to save her. Breathless, I give in to George. Slowly, I melt into my bed. I review mystery and horror movies in my head. I keep pinching myself. It is just a dream.
But soon enough, I realize that it is not-after pinching myself until I turn red. I decide it is time to take action. Before I even leave the house, George walks in, regret in his smile and Hazel in his arms.
“You don’t need to tell me you were right-I already know that. I heard something crash upstairs. I went to investigate the neighbors house. It turns out they needed the baby for what they call ‘information’. I called the police. Sorry that I didn’t believe you at first. And sorry that this wasn’t as exciting as you thought it would be.” George says. He is the best husband alive. I laugh. At least we are all together. Hazel is home. And I didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.