t/w suicide mention, shooting mention, child murder/death mention
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Wendy hoped that when she reached the afterlife, she'd finally have some semblance of peace. But of course that's not how it played out. Sure, her family was here, but that was expected. She'd always been told that the dead watched over them, but that turned out to be a lie. And all she could do was worry.
What was going on with Elizabeth?
All this time, however long it had been, all Wendy could think about was how she had left her daughter alone. She had left her alone, there's no other way of putting it. Elizabeth wasn't even old enough to remember her when Wendy hung herself. Elizabeth wasn't even a year old when Wendy hung herself.
She'd heard about her from Diana's first and second husbands, Daniel and George. Daniel shared the toddler stories, George shared the child and teen stories.
And shortly after George arrived, there arrived a blonde girl.
When Wendy saw her, she knew. She just knew.
That girl was Elizabeth Diana Richardson, her baby.
"Elizabeth!" Wendy ran up to her and hugged her tightly. "It's me, it's me, I'm your mama."
Admittedly to Wendy's surprise, Elizabeth hugged her back. She didn't seem to resent her. That was all Wendy could've asked for.
Both women eventually pulled away. "What are you doing here, Liz, I- you're so young, what happened?" She asked. Elizabeth placed a hand against her forehead. "I think Papa shot me." She replied. "Oh, sweetheart," Wendy whispered before hugging her daughter once more.
Almost immediately after Elizabeth arrived, so did a certain man. A man both Wendy and Elizabeth recognized. A man both Wendy and Elizabeth hated.
