willing

one

"Piggies or bunnies" I whispered to my daughter, mocking some of the tiktoks that her and I watch together, holding my fake- soft smile.

"Black eye" she whispered back to me, making me make eye contact with her through the mirror, seeing my very own black eye that I had received several days ago.

I exhaled softly, clearing my throat and breaking eye contact with her.

"Piggies or bunnies, baby girl" I spoke again, making sure to be quiet due to my husband sleeping in the room right next door.

"Piggies" she spoke quietly.

I gently brushed her hair into the appropriate pigtails, letting her continue to sit on the counter afterwards as I covered my black eye and other blemishes with makeup.

"Ready to go get ice cream?" I asked her, seeing the biggest smile immediately break through her face.

"Strawberry!" she whispered back to me, allowing me to pick her up.

I quickly wrote my husband a note, explaining where we would be if he woke up, just to make sure I could avoid yet another fight tonight.

"Going grocery shopping, then stopping for ice cream. Text me if you need anything. Love, Tate"

I grabbed my purse and keys, walking out with Lily placed firmly on my hip.

I buckled her into her car seat, handing her, her IPad on YouTube so she could entertain herself throughout the ride.

I drove to the store, carrying Lily inside, quickly cleaning a buggy before setting her in the seat part.

Her and I held small conversation as I walked through the store, answering questions that she would ask about items we walked past.

I soon checked out, leaving the store and buckling her back into her car seat, heading to our regular ice cream place.

I got her normal- strawberry ice cream in a bowl and I got pistachio, sitting with her and watching her eat, full of excitement over a four dollar bowl of strawberry ice cream.

"Can I ask a question?" She asked me after a few moments of silence.

"Of course, my angel" I replied.

"Why does he do it?" She questioned.

"Why does who do what?" I asked her calmly, praying she didn't ask what I was thinking she was going to.

And to answer my fear, she asked the one question I continually prayed that my four year old would never ask me.

"Why does daddy get so mad at you, and hit you?"