Her father's call makes her pulse rise. She reaches her hand under her scarf and loosens it. The frozen wind cools the sweat on her skin.
She kicks the fresh snow. Rubs the frozen ground with her sole. Digs with the tip of her boot under a crimson lake of maple leaves, trapped in-between the bony roots of the tree.
That was where she last held it. Where could she have lost it?
It takes her a second to recognize her own name. She used to be Amy. His little Amy.
But not anymore. The new Amy set up new rules. To avoid confusions, she said.
Amelia runs back to her father her hand outstretched, looking for his. But his hands are tucked inside his coats pockets, sheltered from the cold.
“Isn't it wonderful, what Amy got you?” He asks. “Make sure to wear it tonight, for our first family dinner.”
Amelia bites her lip under her scarf. Her head stoops. Her father glances over the frozen pond at the setting sun.
“I knew you'd warm up to her.” He says. And steps ahead, oblivious to his daughter's shiver.