Sadie

Dad took us to the orchard to pick fresh apples on a blistering summer day in August. I was five years old, and Josiah was eleven. We piled into Dad"s old green Chevy van and drove on the gravel path lined with trees that were filled with sweet candy red apples.

The comforting warm feeling of the sun absorbed into my skin, and the slight breeze made the waves in my hair run wild across my face; it brought me an overwhelming sense of joy.

The smell of fresh-cut grass lingered in the air, and the sounds of birds singing in the distance brought a smile to my face. Dad glanced at Mom with a loving smile as she blew him a kiss. Then he looked in his rearview mirror, and his eyes landed on Josiah and me. He smiled wide, sending a warm sensation to my heart.

"Are you ready, my angels?" Dad asked. "Grab as many apples as you can."

Mom turned around to face us. We were finally having a good day. A day without hate, anger, and sadness.

Did Mom think it wouldn't last after today? Was Dad going to get angry at me again? Without warning sadness ripped through me like thunder splitting a tree in half. Mom noticed and her eyes widened with regret. "It's ok, mija. Todo va a estar bien There was a hint of assurance in her voice. Josiah looked at me with comforting eyes, squeezing my hand, promising everything would be ok. He would keep me safe no matter what happened today.

Dad accelerated to full speed through the gravel path between the trees as the apples tumbled into the van. Josiah and I scrambled to gather as many apples as we could, trying to avoid bumping our heads together. Love satiated the van, and tears of joy ran down my face from our laughter. The laughter we shared held so much

power, bringing us together. The fear and sadness ceased to exist, even if it was just for a day. I would remember this special day when darkness suppressed the white light within me.

PRESENT

I'm woken by my alarm clock blaring. My eyes are drawn to the bright sun gleaming through the white aluminum blinds. I don"t want to get up. My body aches all over. Every time I move, a small painful sob escape.

There's a gentle knock at my door. "Hold on. I"m coming," I say in a strained voice and drag myself out of bed as the pain spreads throughout my entire body. God, I feel like I was run over by a fucking bulldozer.

I take small steps until I reach the door, unlocking it.

Mom.

She must have just gotten home since she is still wearing her light pink scrubs. The look on her face tells me she already knows what happened last night. The regret in her eyes makes my cheeks flame with anger. She could"ve prevented this. She could"ve kicked his ass out when he broke her wrist when she was trying to block his blow.

Where was she when I needed her to hold me?

To protect me?

To save me?

"?Ay Dios mío!" she cries quietly in a guilty tone. She reaches out for me, but I cringe back.

"Please, mija." I hesitate at first, but eventually, I let her in. We stand face to face in the middle of my room. She steps forward, and I take a step back.

"Don"t. Please don"t," I say quietly.

She asks me what happened, but I don't want to remember. But, thanks to these bruises, I will have a constant reminder of how much my father hates me.

She gasps, putting her hand over her mouth as her eyes fill with tears. She walks over to put her arms around me. For a moment, her warmth feels safe for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

Why can"t it be like this all the time?

Why is it so hard for her to keep me safe?

A mother is supposed to protect their children against the evil in the world.

Despite all the hate and anger inside me, I bury my head in my mother"s neck, soaking her scrub top with my tears. Her body quivers as she cries along with me. We stay in this position for what seems like hours. She gently pulls away, cupping my face with both hands.

"Lo siento. I"m so sorry, mija." Tears overflow from her eyes. I don"t respond and keep my head down. Shame suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks. Ashamed that I allowed this man, the man I call Father, to hurt me, scare me, kill whatever innocence is left in me, break me to pieces.

She takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom just like she used to when I was a kid. Mom turns the shower on and closes the door behind her, walking back to my room, leaving me alone. I remove my clothes and step into the shower, submerging myself under the hot scalding water with my eyes closed, wishing it could wash away my pain.

I slide down the shower tile, knees against my chest with my face in my hands as I silently cry my pain away.

Why doesn"t Dad love me?

What did I ever do to him?

After getting dressed, I take one last look in the mirror and notice the black and blue bruises forming on my cheeks and neck.

How the hell am I supposed to hide these? Usually, he hits an area I could hide. Dumping my makeup bag, a small tube of concealer rolls out. I rub it on the marked areas, hoping it will cover most of the bruises. If anyone asks, I'll say I fell down or just make something up like I have been for years.

As I walk out of the bathroom, Mom is on her knees scrubbing my bloodstains out of the thick gray carpet. I didn"t realize Dad"s beating caused my nose to bleed enough to spatter on the rug. Her shoulders shake with a small sob. Consumed with anger, I don"t waste time to comfort her. Instead, I grab my faux black leather jacket and backpack and walk out of my room and out the front door.

Fuck this.