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Awards:
- [8CC May-June Challenge Finalist]
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Atlas had never experienced love until Jude walked into his life. She became his first true friend, and ultimately, his everything. Though Atlas was trapped in h...
It has been a week now. Most of the bruises were healing themselves. I laugh at the irony of the situation. Bruises fading, wounds mending, but the scars, both physical and emotional, remained.
Was it my fault?
Did I do something to deserve this?
I stared at the bruises, as I walked downstairs to the kitchen to grab a cup of water.
He wasn't here so he couldn't hurt us, but she was.
We referred to her as 'Mrs. Williamson,' the epitome of a housewife, and the foster mother of seven. However, there was nothing maternal about her. She was a pretender, a deceitful impostor.
She had this kind of 1950's charm about her. She sat there delicately sipping her tea her dainty antique teacup, engaged in lively conversation with her friends, while her children sat there mending their wounds .
Her dull blonde hair framed her face, adding to her picture-perfect facade.
It was nothing, but an act.
I always avoided her when I could, knowing she despised our presence during her tea parties. If she saw me listening in, she would tell him. Because he always heard about it.
When I first moved in, I thought I'd finally found a family. She would be so sweet and warm to me during our check-ins. That died the day I moved in.
All she relished about was boasting about the enormous sums she'd received for fostering us, and hosting her superficial tea parties with friends who revelled in her ostentatious lifestyle
Her friends were just as horrible as her for enabling her behaviour.
She sat in the dining room at her decorated table, gossiping with her friends. The table was draped in a plaid light pink table cloth. Three vases graced its surface, each brimming with freshly arranged pink and white hydrangeas. Seven white teacups stood at attention, one for each of her friends. An array of pastries adorned the table, their enticing aroma filling the room.
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My stomach grumbled at the sight and scent of the delicacies before me. I had never smelled anything so delicious before. My own meals were often scraps, and sometimes I wasn't given food at all. I wished to steal a piece.
"Heather, it must be so hard raising seven children. I have my hands full with two already. I can't even imagine what that'd be like",said one of her friends.
"Oh you know, my heart is so full of love for these children. I could never see them, as being a burden on me", Mrs. Williamson exclaimed.
