New Beginnings

Prologue

"Get out." He took a step closer to me. I stumbled backwards, unblinking. Terrified.

"What?" I stared up at him. My father, my hero. The man I had looked up to all my life. And now the man who wanted nothing more to do with me.

"You are no longer my daughter. Leave." he gritted out. I closed my eyes in defeat, refusing to let the tears flow out. I told myself that I was stronger than this. I couldn't help looking over his shoulder at my mother, the woman lying lifeless on the bed. The woman that I couldn't save.

"Dad, you don't mean-" I started desperately.

"Yes, I do! You either pack up and leave or I throw you out." He looked me in the eye. His eyes were shining with tears, trickling down his unshaven cheeks like solitary raindrops on a windowpane. I came to reassure him, when he stuck out a hand to stop me from coming any closer. "You've done enough. Just leave." His cold unfeeling voice had returned. It hurt. I had lost both my parents and a home in a day.

There was nothing more to be said. I walked to my room and robotically started packing clothes and my essentials into a suitcase. I caught sight of a family photo next to my dressing table. We were on top of the Eiffel Tower, laughing as my dad stood tickling both my mum and I when the picture was taken. It was only meant to be my parents' trip to celebrate their anniversary, but I had been adamant that I was coming too. I smiled faintly, yearning for those days when our house was filled with laughter and happiness, when my dad and I would laugh at my mum's attempts to try and cook something new. And when my parents would sneak a peck on the lips when they thought I wasn't looking. I let out a breath, gently placing the photo on top of all my clothes. I kneeled on the floor, feeling for the cardboard box under my bed. I dragged it out and opened it, pulling out the wad of cash that I had saved up for a car. I guess that wouldn't be happening.

What else did I need? Then it really hit me. I was leaving. The thought of leaving the place that had offered me stability my whole life. I would have to find a job, a place to rent and cook my own food and... The thoughts overwhelmed me as I forced myself to calm down.

"Dad?" I whispered into thei- his room. No reply. I stepped into the room. He was sat facing away from my mother's body, looking out the window at the bleak sky. I'd never felt so unwelcome in my entire life. I walked cautiously towards him, touching his shoulder, expecting him to shake it off. He didn't. His gaze didn't once waver from the window. "I'm sorry." I sniffed as I fought down the tears and stepped back.

I walked to my mum and kissed her forehead. "I love you. I'll see you soon," my voice trembled, and a tear fell onto my mum's cheek, disappearing as it travelled down to her neck.

I walked down the stairs and looked around at all the family photos and smiled. This would always be the place I grew up. I put my shoes on and opened the front door. I couldn't do it. I closed it and sat on the bottom step thinking of all the memories between the three of us. My father would need someone; he couldn't cope on his own. I cried for my loss, his loss and our lives. And my mum, the woman who had torn our family apart. I couldn't help but feel a spark of anger towards her, for doing something that she couldn't help, dying. I shoved that thought down and vowed never to think like that again. I felt somewhat better after breaking down, fueled with the inexplicable energy to fight and to survive on my own.

I walked out, finally, away from the place I called home. Away from my dead mother. Away from my father. Into my new life. I forced myself not to cry. 

After all, our scars only make us stronger. It's the sign of survivors.