unbreakable heaven • awsten knight

1.13 it's time to go

houston tx
december 2008

Ellie finds her house to be eerily quiet when she gets home.

It's only three thirty, so she knows that her dad is likely still at work, but her mum is usually around at this time.

She's usually watching TV, catching up on the shows that she doesn't get to watch when Ellie's dad comes home and switches to whichever channel is showing a sitcom he's currently invested in.

However, when Ellie enters the living room, she doesn't find her mother on the couch like she normally would.

The TV is turned off, and the pillows on the sofa are lined up nicely, as if they haven't been touched since she left for school this morning.

"Hello?" Ellie speaks up, cautiously. "Mum?" She calls, a little louder, as she wanders around the kitchen.

Maybe she's at the store— Ellie thinks to herself, trying to be as optimistic as possible.

Often, when her mother leaves to go out, she leaves a note, placed in plain sight on the kitchen counter.

Ellie looks, but she doesn't find any notes in the kitchen.

She lets out a sigh and decides to head upstairs, dumping her school bag in the corner of her room as she enters it, before freezing when she notices a piece of paper on her desk.

Slowly and carefully, Ellie walks towards her desk, her eyebrows furrowed as she attempts to swallow back her rising anxieties.

Standing in front of it now, she sees that it's not just a piece of paper, but an envelope, and her heart sinks, seeing her name written in her mothers handwriting on the front of it.

Ellie sits down, heavily, propping her elbows on the desk as she rubs her hands over her face, having an increasingly bad feeling about what's inside the envelope.

In her mind, Ellie knows there's only one possibility of what it could be: a letter from her mother, telling her that she's left.

The thought makes her feel nauseous, and her optimistic side—however minuscule it may be— is telling her that her mother wouldn't do this right now; not at this time of year, and especially not just one week before Christmas.

Taking a deep breath, Ellie slides her thumb beneath the tab and peels open the envelope, taking out its contents slowly.

She unfolds the piece of paper that's inside, and is presented with a letter— as she thought.

My darling Ellie, Elsie, Lizzie...

I know you like Ellie the best, so I suppose I'll just stick with that one. Maybe we should've named you that when you were born— you have always hated Elizabeth, haven't you?

At least "Betty" didn't catch on like your Grandma wanted— I know you hated that the most.

Now, if I know you at all, I'm sure you've figured out what this letter means, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Ellie. I cannot apologise to you enough for leaving like this. I know this time of year is hard for you, and it feels selfish of me to do this now, but I wanted so badly to keep up a brave face for you, and I'm afraid that was beginning to crumble. I didn't want you to see things turn horribly like it has before. You don't deserve that.