Since the beginning of her memories, Laika could not remember her mother. She couldn't remember what she looked like, nor what she her voice sounded like. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to be held in her arms. But what she did remember was the sadness father had whenever she was brought up.

He told her about how they met and how he courted her, about their little dates and their adventures. He told her about how she had such life behind her eyes, how they would sparkle at any challenge; how she felt unconquerable, and how she told him that he better not get in her way. He told her all the fun memories.

He also told her about how she left:

After Laika's fever reached insane levels and with no word of where Malinka went and when she would be back, they had no choice but to take her to the pediatrician. They had sat in the waiting room for hours before they were seen, and by then Laika had become unresponsive. The doctor ushered them back to the waiting room as he called for more medical support. After several harrowing hours of doctors and nurses rushing back and forth were the anxious parents called on.

Katyenka demanded to see her daughter immdediately, but the doctor said that her condition was too fragile and that they were to keep her under observation for a few days. He suggested for them to go home and rest.

That night passed with little to no sleep, worrying about their only child and wondering where Baba Malinka had gone. The two clung to each other, emotions resonating as they spilled their worries out, taking comfort knowing that at least they had one another.

And for the remaining week, they continued to stress. Every call to the hospital gave them inconclusive answers, and visits to the local police station for the whereabouts of Katy's mother led to disappointment. They even took time to go to the New Scotland Yard to formally inquire, but to no avail.

Another week passed and they were finally given information about their child. The doctors were able to bring her out of the fever, but they noticed how she no longer reacted to visual stimuli. The little girl had been rendered blind. "Though", the doctor over the phone added, "it's very fortunate that she didn't lose her hearing as well."

With a wistful tone, Laika's father told her that Katy made some obscene hand gestures and told them to bugger off.

His voice softened as he continued:

She began to act oddly when they came back from the hospital. Sometimes she would shriek when holding her own child, or outright refuse to look at her in the eye. Other times, she swore that Laika would vanish then reappear elsewhere entirely. She once confessed to him that she believed their daughter to be replaced by a changling like that from her mother's stories, to be a fae. Katy had never been superstitious before, so of course he dismissed it as fantastical. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. The look of incredulous disbelief on her face at his response clung to his memories.

Her condition nose-dived at the news of her mother. Not long after their return from the hospital, police came knocking. Laika's father was the one who answered the door.

An idling car had been spotted next to the road up near Maghera a few weeks prior with the remains of an old woman alongside a mouldering straw basket - inside, a damp address book. The pages stuck together and the ink had bled terribly, but the local precinct had managed to discern some words and numbers, enough to find the street and a partial house number. They were asking around for a possible identification of the body to aid in an ongoing investigation.

A simple bracelet in a sealed plastic bag was brought out. The weight of the thin metal had felt unbearably heavy in his hand. It was the same bracelet among many that Baba Malinka had adorning her arms. He asked in a tight voice if they had anything else. The detectives, having sensed a lead, requested to step in to which he obliged. He called Katyenka over to listen to what the police had to say.

"We believe that this body is related to the recent attacks by the Provisional Irish Republican Army, also known by the acronym PIRA. They are a lethal terrorist group who have been known to use bombs and snipers in public settings. If you have any information as to who this woman was and why she may have been targeted, that would be much help."

One of the detectives pulled out an envelope containing photographs of the crime scene. Katy's trembling hands took it and purused the contents, pausing at a photo of the car's interior. A single bullet hole through a cracked and stained windscreen with an old woman slumped in the driver's seat, her face obscured by long grey hair. She immediately shoved the small stack back into the envelope.

"That can't be her. Why would she be driving a car? She's 68 for Chris'sake!" She turned to him as though he had answers. "She said that she just needed to get some ingredients for Laika's fever. Lawrence, tell them how they've got it wrong."

He asked the detectives where again the body was found.

"Near Maghera, Northern Ireland, sir. Judging from the direction the car was going, it looks like she was headed towards Ballynahone Bog."

He remembered vaguely that Malinka said she mentioned needing some fresh bog peat.

"Northern Ireland?!" Katy interjected, "How in God's Name would she get there in one day? That's a whole another island! She said that she would've been back before sundown." A wild look began to grow in her eyes.

"Ma'am, we are sorry for your loss. Do you think there would have been any reason why your mother was targeted?"

"No. No!" She shook her head vehemently.

At this point, he asked for them to leave so that he could calm her down in private. He returned the envelope to the detectives and offered to give the bracelet back.

With a sympathetic smile as the turned to go, they declined. "It belongs to the family."

The bracelet seemed to enrage his wife. "Hey! If that's my mum, then where's the rest of her belongings? She had other jewelry on when she left."

"That bracelet was on the floor of the car. It looked like the killer was a petty thief, too. They must have dropped it while -"

"Well, I bet you and your friend there actually have the rest of it," she interrupted. "I bet you and all your police friends are having a grand ol' time with me mum's stuff; having a great ha-ha at our expense!"

And with that, he bid the detectives good day and closed the front door.

Since then, she accused him of everything - of not believing in her, of being part of a sick joke, of trying to make her give up hope that her mother was still out there. She thought that her mother would walk in through the front door the next day, only to be disappointed daily. No amount of reasoning on his part could reach her.

Over time, she became distant. Her daughter would be left unattended, housework completely disregarded. He often would come home to a crying, hungry Laika and a wife locked in their bedroom. His life was slowly falling apart.

Then one night, he awoke from his armchair at the sound of the door opening. It was Katyenka, standing in a wide open doorway, illuminated by the streetlights outside. He told her to close the door and go back to bed. She looked at him.

"I'm going to go find my mum."

He said, "Don't be ridiculous."

The door closed, and he went back to sleep. The next morning, Katyenka Enderson was gone.

Laika would go up to her Papa and hug him at the end, every time. His silence told his sorrow.