Alone on a little green patch stands strong the gray stone with the letters. R.I.P. A single woman remains, standing isolated in the white snow that covered the surrounding perimeter. Reminiscing on only a few months prior.
…
The rain outside thudded violently against the window of the office, it’s screams setting the silent mood; on one side of the large oak desk sat a woman, with longer silky brown hair. Her face was gentle, despite the two faded scars on the right side of her cheek. She stared at her company with the dark blue eyes.
''I'm Charlie Bennett. Willa, I'm glad that you decided to stop by after all.'' Willa sat in her chair quietly.
''Charlie, that's a weird name.'' Charlie smiled finding the comment amusing.
'' So is Willa. Mine's short for Charlotte, what's your excuse?’’
''The fact that I didn't have a say in the matter.'' Willa liked Charlie, her youth and her independent nature had a lot to say, Willa could understand, that this twenty three year old had a story of her own.
''Willa, will you please take off your hood?'' Willa, slowly listened, sliding the hood off of her head, the blonde curls falling free against her sharp chin where they abruptly stopped. Her lower lip displayed a nice cut, a little speed bump being noticeable. Her normally light gray eyes looked darker begun the shades of black and blue that now surrounded her lashes. She winced briefly feeling Charlie's glare, illuminating the small dimple on her right cheek for a brief moment.
''Willa, there are protection laws, we can help you. We need to contact the police.'' Charlie's voice was motherly and concerned.
''We don't have to do anything. You don't understand. It is okay.'' Willa's voice was hushed, a mere whisper.
Charlie snorted. ''Willa, believe me, I understand more then you give me credit for.''
…
The thick hand sliced through the air smashing against the rosy cheek this was no where near the first strike in which had been inflicted, and it was surely not to be the last. From under the desk, peering through the natural frame of the wooden chair is a little girl, watching. Watching, as her mother’s face portrays the reddened hand print upon her cheek, Watching, as the hand continuously slices through the air, bit by bit causing the delicate face to tear open, and bleed. Watching, the thick red blood oozed from the gashes on the petite body. Watching, as her mother slowly, painfully sinks to the ground in defeat.
Watching, the tears and pain fall freely from her chin, only to drop against her pregnant belly. The little girl, although only six in the natural sense, she had grown to be wiser than her years, while she absorbed the scene, she held another tightly to her body. The little blonde haired girl sat silently clinging to the comfort of a heart beat as she pressed her head into the sister; a sister only three years her senior. Muffled voices and sounds reached the little one’s ears, though she could not comprehend, or connect their meanings as her sister pressed a hand protectively to the back of her head; the soft strands of hair entangled with her fingers. The littlest one noted the sounds brought a strange reaction to her sister, for each time, the rhythm of the beats released from her heart skipped and the oldest would hesitate, having to remind herself to exhale and breathe again. The older of the two little girls reminisced on the events of the day, noting how the mood, and overall atmosphere changed when her father’s arrival closed in.
“Mother, time to wake up.” The eyes of the mother slowly opened, the emerald green seeming to sparkle against the morning’s soft sunlight poured through the thin curtains of the master bedroom; allowing the night’s events to disappear from their minds,. The mother; inhaling deeply exhaled with a full and pure smile. She reached out for her daughter, who, over the years has managed to take upon the role of her assistance; helping with everything the house itself required. As she held her daughter for a moment, her arms fully wrapped around the small body, she whispered a little lullaby in the little one’s ears.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do. I’m half crazy all for the love of you. It’s won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage.” “But you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.” The soft voices clashed together in harmony, as the little girl joined in. Though the mothers voice was much more trained and developed.
“Mother?” “Hmm?” The mother’s hands now were gliding through the soft strands of dirty blonde hair that curled ever so neatly off of the little girl’s head.
“You are beautiful, and I love you.” The little girl spoke with such truth, it was nearly a challenge to keep the moist droplets from arising in the mother’s eyes as she leaned her head forward kissing the child’s soft cheek.
“Time to get ready.” The mother, with a gentle push helped her daughter off the bed, before swinging her own feet over the edge, pressing a thin and frail hand to the stomach in which emerged from her as a mountain does the ground. The little creature inside kicked in response to the morning wake up call, bringing a pleased smile to the mother’s bruised face.
…
Willa shivered once in her seat, causing Charlie's story to suddenly come to a halt. ''You walked here in the pouring rain didn't you?''
''Just finish the story would you? I have to be home sometime before next year.'' Charlie couldn't help but laugh before she returned back to her story, Willa, was without a doubt strong, and Charlie had an impression that not a lot of people got to see that in her.