*Ana's pov*
Mommy and Daddy have been fighting a lot lately. Usually, Daddy argues with Mommy after he comes home late at night from his "book club," as Mommy calls it. She thinks I don't know that "book club" really means the bar. Grandma told me that the last time I visited her.
Mommy is sweet, just like the sugar she puts on my cereal. Daddy, though, is gross like Brussels sprouts. I hate Brussels sprouts. They look like little green balls of garbage. Yuck!
"Bill, please! Please stop, I'm sorry!" I hear mommy beg after a plate crashes. I've been in my room for the last two days. It's summer break, and Daddy told me to stay in here and not leave for anything. Sometimes mommy comes in to color with me while daddy is gone. She brings me water and food, too. Today we shared a canned tuna sandwich. It tasted good. Mommy cut it into triangles, how I like. We laughed and colored together, too. I love coloring with Mommy.
I love these moments with her. It makes things a little better to know that we get to see each other in the morning. I love my Mommy so much. Honestly, I love her more than Daddy. All he does is hurt us, yell, and curse. "That boy Bill has the nastiest mouth I've ever heard," Grandma used to say to Mommy. After Grandma talked to Mommy about him being a bad person, we haven't seen her again. I miss her. I wonder if she still thinks about me or remembers me. She's really old, so she might not.
"I thought I told you not to touch my stuff? Huh? Didn't I tell you that?" Daddy screamed at Mommy. "I was just trying to clean up a little. I know you wanted to come home to a clean house. I put your needles in that bag over there. If you would just let me-" Mommy pleaded, but then I heard a loud thud and her crying. "No! I told you not to move it! Now you're going to have to deal with the consequences of touching my things, you dumb bitch!"
My eyes fill with tears as I lie on the floor of my bedroom, fists gripping the pallet beneath me. "I wish you were dead. I wish you were dead," I whispered softly but firmly. "One day, he won't hurt you anymore, Mommy. One day, he will be the one begging," I said into the darkness.
Next morning~
"Good morning, Ana baby," Mommy sings. I slowly sit up and hold my head. I cried so much last night that I woke up with a throbbing pain in my forehead. But seeing Mommy as soon as I open my eyes makes me forget about the pain. She has a big black eye. Her bottom lip is swollen, and she walks like she's really hurt. "Hi, Mommy. Are you okay?" I ask, looking into her eyes. "I'm fine, honey. I tripped over a basket on my way here—nothing to worry about. I hit my eye a little on the dresser, but I'm fine," she says, smiling and looking away. She knows I know she's lying. Mommy always has excuses for people who ask what's wrong when they see her. I stay quiet. I have smaller bruises and scars, too. I know people could help if I said something, but I don't want to be taken away from Mommy. She hasn't done anything wrong. It's him.
"So what are we coloring today, Ana baby?" she asks, smiling as she sits next to me on my pink polka-dotted pallet. "Um, let's see," I say, smiling as I jump up and run to my stack of coloring books she got me last Christmas. I look through the pile and find the puppy one. "Ooh, puppies!" I say. I skip back to Mommy with my crayons, and we start to color together.
An hour later~
"AMBER!" My mom flinched. Daddy's home early. She isn't supposed to be in here with me since I'm in "trouble." I don't even know what I did. He probably just got tired of seeing me around the house. "I gotta go, baby. I love you," she says quickly, jumping up from the pile of crayons. Before she can open my door, Daddy rushes in. "What did I tell you about being in here?" he spits at her, his right hand clenched in a fist. "I'm sorry, I was just—" Mommy tries to explain, but he shoves her to the floor while I watch in terror. "Mommy!" I cry. "Shut up!" he yells, charging at me and grabbing my left arm, yanking me off my feet. "You want to yell? Nobody can save you!" "Please let her go, Bill, it's my fault, please!" Mommy cries, rushing over to us. "Get back," Daddy says as he throws me to the ground so hard that I land on my wrist, breaking it. I scream in pain, holding my wrist. "It hurts, Mommy, it hurts," I cry, rocking back and forth on the floor.