Resilience

Two

<Ellie>

I stood frozen in the doorway, trying to absorb the devastation that had engulfed our home. It felt like an eternity had passed as I surveyed the wreckage. Everything was ruined. Our apartment, nestled in the rougher side of town, boasted second-hand furniture that we had painstakingly acquired over time. Despite its modesty, it was ours, a testament to my hard work. Tears threatened to spill, and an anguished cry clawed at my throat—why us?

"Mom," a small voice broke through my despair, accompanied by a tighter grip on my hand. I shook myself out of the downward spiral. Tate shouldn't have to witness this destruction in the place where he should feel safest. I looked up once more, taking in the shredded furniture, shattered glass from broken dishes, and the cruel words in crimson spray paint on the walls.

"Why... why would someone do this?" His question hung heavily in the air.

People commit senseless acts every day, but this felt personal, deliberate. I suspected my mother was somehow involved—either through her troubled friends or seeking revenge for my refusal to lend her money the last time she asked.

I stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the room. "Tate, look at me," I whispered. His troubled, blue eyes, held unshed tears. I studied his brownish-red hair and freckled fair skin, so much like my own.

Giving a strained smile, I said, "It's just stuff," trying to convince myself as much as him. He gave me a skeptical look, his face flushing with anger as he surveyed the room again. At just eight, he already saw himself as the man of the house and my fierce little protector.

"Tate," I continued firmly, meeting his eyes with determination, "It really is just stuff. You and I, we are safe. Everything else can be replaced." Pulling him into a hug, he stiffened briefly before returning the embrace. He was growing so fast; his head now reached just below my chin, though he would soon surpass my 5'2" stature.

Releasing him reluctantly, I noticed a garbage bag on the floor. "Stay here, I'll see if there is anything salvageable to hold us over through tomorrow, then we'll leave."

"I can help," he protested.

Shaking my head, I gave him a firm look. "No, it won't take long. Just stay."

Carefully navigating the glass, I entered our bedroom, finding more destruction. I pulled out my phone and called the landlord, leaving a voicemail detailing the situation. Calling the police crossed my mind briefly, but I dismissed it—past experiences had taught me they wouldn't be much help.

The police had become a familiar presence in my life since moving in with my mother. My mother, Jackie was a druggie who was well supplied by her boyfriend, Todd—a local drug dealer and a petty thief. Shortly after coming to live with Jackie teachers noticed bruises, the police intervened briefly, but Todd always returned, more menacing than before.

I scanned the room for Tate's belongings, gathering his scattered clothes, wrestling figures, and cards into the trash bag. My own clothes were slashed and torn, I salvaged a couple of less damaged items—a few t-shirts and a pair of jeans that I could alter.

Returning to where Tate waited, he grabbed my purse and his school bag, as I slung the trash bag of our belongings over my shoulder.

We loaded on the bus and settled into our seats for the 20-minute ride to the town's motel. Tate yawned and rested his head on my lap, already succumbing to exhaustion. As I looked around at our meager possessions crammed into trash bags, I couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

Exhaustion washed over me—I had just finished a grueling 12-hour shift before picking up Tate from baseball practice, only to return to this chaos.

He stirred in his sleep, and guilt clenched my heart. He deserved better. Determination surged through me; I would give him that better life. Wiping away my tears, I pulled out my phone and began to devise a plan. One night in a motel, then we would figure out our next steps.

(don't own any rights to picture)