Chapter One
Shyla ran through the door, only to see Landry standing at the kitchen table, eating a piece of toast.
"Landry! Thank goodness it's only you!" Shyla cried. Her deep English accent showed through, her voice relieved.
"Daddy knows you wern't home last night," Landry warned her. "He found out, and took it out on me," she said, pouting. She turned her head to the left, showing Shyla a dark purple bruise that had made itself at home on Landry's face.
"Ouch!" Shyla said, sitting beside her sister. She put her arm around Landry's shoulder, and squeezed it. "Don't worry, we'll get out of this. We'll make it so we won't have to live with him for another minute. We'll be free, and we'll never have to see him again."
Landry's eyes filled with hope. "No more bruises?"
Shyla shook her head. "No more bruises," she promised.
Landry's smile was ear-to-ear, as she started cleaning up her mess. "I wish mommy was still alive, Shyla," Landry confessed, her voice growing soft, as she looked off into space.
"I know," Shyla agreed. After a moment, Landry asked her, "What are you thinking?"
"Just about the way mom used to be. The way she would flip her hair behind her shoulder when she was angry with us. How she would chew on her bottom lip when she was nervous; How she would never yell, just raise her voice, and be firm, but still be nice at the same time." Shyla's heart was aching for her mother to return home. Tears gently teased at the corner of her eyes, but she wouldn't cry. Not infront of Landry. She cleared her throat, and took Landry's plate off the table, and put it in the sink. "But, no more silly talk. We need to get to work. Dad wants us to do the morning chores, so you take the bathroom, and I'll take the kitchen, okay?"
Landry nodded. "All right," she replied, and headed down the hallway to the bathroom.
Shyla filled the sink with soapy water, and began washing the dishes from the night before. Time passed, as Shyla thought about how the way things used to be when her mother was alive. Their father was not abusive, nor did he smoke, drink, or do drugs. They would be a happy family if Angela was still around. If only she was still on this earth. Her presence was heavenly, as though she was an angel that had swooped down from heaven.
Shyla looked up towards the sky. "I miss you Mama," she whispered, and began to wash the last dish. "I wish you would come home."
Chapter Two
