I would like to apologise for the length of time that it has taken me to update this story. Things are getting so busy and hectic and I just wish that I had more time to relax and to write.

Chapter 5 – One month later

Matthew sighed walking up the stairs towards his daughter's bedroom. Since the incident with her murderous mother, Sophie had become a silent shadow of her former self. She did not tend to speak as much as she used too and Matthew had not heard her laughter for days. Sophie preferred to keep to herself, shut away in her bedroom, writing. It was not uncommon for him to come home to see Sophie sitting at the kitchen bar, the most recent copy of the New Yorker open in front her, with neat organised piles of paper laid in an orderly fashion around her. That passion for words had increased and her writing had developed to a standard high above her own age. He was proud but worried for his darling little girl.

"Sophie" He said opening the door to her bedroom. The little girl peered up at her from behind her magazine, looking much older than nine. Her hair was pulled back in a high pony tail, tied with a dark blue ribbon and she wore her school blazer over a white shirt. He looked around the room and bit his lip. Papers, fully covered in her neat handwriting, were pinned up on the wall, one after another as if placed in some sort of chronological order. "What are these papers darling?" He asked.

"Stories daddy" She said. "Isn't is obvious".

Matthew stared blankly at the child for a moment and nodded. "Of course… But what are they about?"

Sophie put her magazine down and went to him. "My friend Louise, daddy, and her mommy". Venom laced her pronunciation of the word 'mommy' as if the word itself tasted bitter to her. Matthew was confused and silenced. Since the incident, Sophie had not been out of their new home without him and he had no memory of a girl named Louise, or her mother.

"Where did you meet them, Sophie?" He asked lifting her onto his lap.

She squirmed in his arms. "At the mall daddy" She snapped. "Now, daddy let me go. I have to finish my story"

Matthew stared at his daughter as if he now longer knew who she was. He had taken her to the mall only three days before and had lost sight of her in a crowd. He could not describe the panic that overcame him when he searched for her, eventually finding her again in the security office. He didn't think she had encountered anyone from the moment he lost her to the moment that they were reunited. "No, Sophie" He said firmly. "I need you to tell me straight. Who are Louise and her mum?"

"I met them daddy, at the mall. Louise was lost too, we stayed together and her mommy found us. Because her mommy cared, you see" She said sliding out of her father's hold and walking across the room, sitting on the short set of stairs from the main bedroom into the second 'play room' through the open doorway. "You don't have to believe me, but I don't lie"

"Sophie Hall" He said. "I know that this has been an extremely difficult time for you recently, what with what has happened with your mother. But I do not expect for you to speak to me like this and behave like this."

"I am being me" She said. "Writing my stories, like you like me to do. Why are you acting as if you do not believe me daddy?"

"Because I didn't meet these people. And I always not you not to speak to people that you do not know" He said looking at her from across the room. She looked so grown up, as if she had suddenly aged with this trauma she had experienced.

"It doesn't matter" Sophie said picking up her notebook. "Louise is my friend, she made me laugh, saying that her fiery red hair would lead the way home like the North Star. I want to write about her and about her mommy, and one day … And one day these stories could be published. A journalist."

Matthew sighed. "I just now know Sophie. A journalist does not make up stories, they tell the truth. The New Yorker would not publish a story that you may or may not of made up. They would have fact checkers look over it, and if it was made up, you would be in a lot of trouble"

Sophie scowled and looked down her nose at him. "I am not a liar, I am not in trouble. These are my stories, they are true!"

"Don't you dare shout at me Sophie" He said firmly. "Listen to me, I do not want to hear anymore of these stories. I want you to write, but real journalism not stories. Do you understand me Sophie?"

"Yes!" She snapped. "Now go away, leave me alone daddy I don't want to talk to you anymore"

Matthew gave her a silent hard stare, telling her to behave, before leaving the room. He wanted to believe her, he really did, but he knew she had a highly active imagination. In the light of her recent trauma, she could have convinced herself that these friends were real in order to give herself some comfort, some normality back into her young life. He sighed sitting in the lounge, picking up a copy of the New Yorker. This was his baby's dream, and he had to support it for her sake more than his own. He didn't understand his daughter sometimes, he didn't know how her mind worked. She used to appear so simple and so easily understandable.

Every evening, she used to come straight in from school and go to him. She would sit with him, reading the newspaper or reading the magazine. Admittedly, she may never have let him read her stories, but at least she was sharing the experience with him. Now, she just goes straight to her bedroom, hiding everything, developing an attitude that he did not understand. She was stubborn, strong, angry and independent as if she was trying to push him away.