At six years old, a child should be surrounded by warmth, protection, and a parent’s love.

But for little Lisa, life was nothing like that. She had already grown used to her mother and father disappearing for “business trips,” leaving her to fend for herself. They always promised to come back soon but “soon” stretched into endless days.

That autumn, the wind howled through cracks in the walls, and the house was bitterly cold. Her parents placed half a loaf of bread and a bottle of water on the table before leaving.

“Be good, we’ll be back before you know it. Don’t go outside, or bad things will happen,” her mother concerned, pulling on her coat in a rush.

For the first few hours, Lisa waited by the window. She whispered to her dolls, convincing herself that her mother would return any moment. But soon, time blurred. One gray day melted into the next. She huddled under a thin blanket, hiding beneath the table when the dark grew too heavy. When the bread was gone, she scraped the bottom of the bowl with a spoon, searching desperately for crumbs.

The nights were the hardest. Lisa pressed her hands over her ears, trembling at every sound and the wind banging the shutters, the scratching of rats under the floorboards, footsteps she thought she heard in the hall. In the silence she whispered over and over:

— Mom is coming… Mom is close…

But no one came.

On the sixth day, the door finally creaked open. Her parents stepped inside, laughing as if they’d only been gone an hour. But what they saw made their laughter di:e instantly.

There was no squeal of joy, no little footsteps rushing to greet them. Only silence.

Lisa sat on the kitchen floor, her back pressed to the wall. The bowl in front of her was spotless—licked clean long ago. Her cheeks were drained of color, her eyes dull and distant. She didn’t smile. She didn’t even look surprised.

Softly, she repeated the same words, over and over:

— I’m not hungry… I don’t want to eat anymore…

Her parents froze in horror. Their bright, lively daughter of yesterday was gone. In her place sat a fragile shell of a child, eyes stripped of all innocence—staring with a void no child should ever know.