"Dad," said Emma. Thomas raised a skeptical eyebrow. He was all too familiar with that tone.

"I'm 9 years old now," Emma began confidently. "So, I'm not a little kid anymore." Thomas took a drag of his cigarette, waiting to see where his daughter was going with this. He sat across from her, keeping his promise not to smoke next to her.

"I've become more responsible, behave almost all the time, and I'm punctual," Emma continued, searching for more convincing arguments. "And it's going to be summer…"

Thomas could sense that she was getting to the point. He lowered his cigarette and looked at her attentively. "So, what's it, Emma?" he finally asked.

"All I'm asking is to push my curfew back by two hours," Emma said softly, as if expecting rejection.

Thomas studied his child for a moment before firmly saying, "No," and bringing the cigarette back to his mouth.

"Why not?" Emma asked disappointedly.

"Your first argument is unfortunately against it," Thomas replied, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"But I can't change my age! I won't turn 10 until next year!" Emma defended herself.

"Even that wouldn't be enough," he chuckled and exhaled the smoke slowly.

"But everyone else is allowed!" Emma argued.

"But you're not everyone," Thomas pointed out. "Being out two hours later would mean missing supper."

"Mrs. Patmore surely wouldn't mind…" Emma tried to explain, but Thomas cut her off immediately.

"No, Emma." He shook his head decisively. "There are rules that must be followed."

Emma sighed in frustration. "But all my friends get to stay out later."

"That's nice for them," Thomas dryly replied, "but we have our own rules."

Emma looked disappointedly at the floor. "It's so unfair! I'm not a little kid anymore!"

"Life has never been fair," Thomas said, putting the cigarette aside. "You should have understood that by now."

Emma sighed in disappointment. "I thought you were the best dad. Clearly, you're not," and she left the servants' hall.


Thomas sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching her leave with mixed feelings.

"What's going on with Emma?" wondered Anna, entering the servants' hall and taking a seat on one of the empty chairs.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Thomas replied curtly, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again.

Anna observed Thomas with a raised eyebrow before deciding to let the matter rest for now. She knew if she said anything now, Thomas would again mock her for not having a clue about raising children.


Emma sat on her bed, completely engrossed in her book when Thomas entered the room late at night. Thomas sighed, sat down beside her on the bed, and placed his hand on Emma's shoulder. "Some decisions are not easy for me either."

"The answer came pretty quickly," Emma remarked.

Thomas struggled to find a suitable response to Emma's comment. "Yes, but only because I want the best for you."

Emma looked at him with wide eyes, and in that moment, Thomas could see the disappointment in her gaze. He briefly considered how to better explain the situation.

"Look," he began gently, "it's not about punishing you. It's about having certain rules to protect you. The curfew is one of them."

Emma still looked skeptical, but she listened attentively.

"I understand that you're getting older and want more freedom to see your friends," Thomas continued, "but there are only two times a day when we can spend time together - breakfast and dinner - and that time is important to me."

Emma looked thoughtful. Thomas took the opportunity to show her that he understood her feelings. "You're right; you're not a little kid anymore," he said with a slight smile, "but you'll always be my little dwarf, and I care a lot about you."

Emma looked at her father, and slowly, he could see her disappointment giving way to understanding. "I know, Dad," she said, looking at him with a pleading expression, "Is there a chance I can stay out a bit longer, at least?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow. The girl certainly didn't give up easily, which made him smirk slightly. "Fine, but you must be home on time for supper. If you're even a minute late, I'll reset the curfew."

Emma beamed with joy. "Deal!" and the two shook hands.


Two weeks later, Barrow's gaze fell on the empty seat at the table, then drifted to the wall clock. It was unusual for Emma to be late, and Thomas couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it. Emma had proven to be extremely reliable and punctual in the past weeks. Would she recklessly jeopardize the freedom she had fought so hard for? Yet, any moment now, the servants' dinner would be served, and there was no sign of Emma.

"Emma has never been this late," observed Mrs. Hughes.

"Her curfew started half an hour ago," Anna realized with concern.

"Maybe the brat ran away. Wouldn't be the first time," smirked O'Brien, earning a stern glare from Mrs. Hughes, who cleared her throat but refrained from commenting.

"Aren't you worried, Mr. Barrow?" inquired Mr. Bates.

Thomas, who had indeed been concerned until a few moments ago, lit a new cigarette. He couldn't bring himself to kneel before Bates and admit that he was genuinely concerned about the girl's well-being. He reluctantly exhaled the smoke and then calmly said, "If she's hungry or tired, she'll show up."

"It truly remains a mystery to all of us why you have a child with such apparent disinterest," Bates remarked. Alfred and Jimmy seemed to contemplate whether to join the conversation, but the two servants remained silent.

"It's not disinterest; it's trust that my child will come back to me – every evening."

"I might go check," winked O'Brien, "Just in case the brat has robbed you again."

"She's not a brat, Mrs. O'Brien," snapped Thomas. He didn't like O'Brien speaking disdainfully about his child, referring to her as a brat.

"And what if something happened to her? What if Emma needs help?" Anna pointed out.

"What do you suggest I do? Go look for Emma? I don't even know where she spends her days,"

"Unbelievable! It's almost dark outside now! Emma is 9 years old, Thomas! She wouldn't be late without a reason!"

Thomas remained seated for another moment, took a final drag of his cigarette, then stood up, accidentally bumping into Carson, who appeared behind him.

"Mr. Barrow, where are you in such a hurry?"

"I'm looking for Emma."

"I must admit, I was wondering why it's so quiet. Well, a young girl shouldn't be wandering the streets alone at this hour, don't you think?"

"Absolutely, that's why I'm going to search for her."


He hoped to encounter Emma on the way home, but this hope seemed to be denied to him. Upon reaching the village, he began his search at the school. The schoolyard was deserted at this late hour. Next, he headed to the Harris Farm.

"Mr. Barrow – hello – what are you doing here so late?" wondered Maisie Harris.

"Good evening, Mrs. Harris," Thomas greeted with a somewhat calm voice, "Is Emma still here?"

"I'm afraid not," she replied, turning briefly, "Ruby!" she called loudly, and shortly after, the girl appeared, "Do you know where Emma is?"

Ruby shook her head.

"You two are usually inseparable," Thomas remarked, pressing for answers, "You must have an idea of who Emma is with and where she is, don't you?"

"We were in the woods – Emma, Arthur, and I – but I had to leave earlier because I had to help out on the farm."

"That's true," Mrs. Harris interjected.

"Where exactly in the woods?"

"At the intersection that leads to the Abbey, there's a small path that goes into the woods. Follow the path and turn left at the bench. Eventually, you'll see a treehouse." Ruby explained.


"Damn it, Emma, where are you?" he cursed to himself as the sun completely disappeared, leaving the surroundings nearly dark. He followed Ruby's directions, turning left at the bench. He did just that, and now there was nothing for a long while. No treehouse, no children's laughter. Nothing. Perhaps Emma had safely returned to the Abbey, and they had missed each other on the way? Emma had never mentioned a treehouse in the woods where she spent her free time with friends. Thomas always thought his daughter played at the Harris Farm or school yard. Thomas took out a cigarette and his lighter from his jacket pocket. He was about to light it when he heard a voice.

"Emma?" he called out in hope of finally finding his daughter, "Emma!" he repeated his call.

"Over here!" someone shouted, a voice Thomas didn't recognize. So, he put the cigarette and lighter back into his jacket pocket.

Thomas first noticed the treehouse, perched in the trees. But then, as his gaze wandered lower, the sight hit him like an ice-cold slap in the face. A young lad, barely older than his child, knelt beside an unmoving figure lying on the damp forest floor. In that shocking moment, Thomas's breath caught, and his heart seemed to stop for a moment. The world around him seemed to fade as his eyes focused on the figure, and his thoughts whispered only one name: "Emma."