A day called Life

Part 2

She shook her head, refusing to leave her mother alone on the floor. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm staying with you."

Her mother tried to smile, but it came out as a wince. She reached out, placing a shaky hand on her daughter's cheek. "You're so strong, sweetheart. Stronger than I ever was."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She couldn't cry now, not when her mother needed her. Carefully, she helped her mother sit up, supporting her as much as she could. The woman's breath hitched in pain, and her daughter felt a surge of anger at the man who had done this to her.

"We should get you to the couch," she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Can you stand?"

Her mother nodded weakly, and together, they managed to get her off the floor and onto the couch. Once her mother was settled, she hurried to the bathroom to grab a damp washcloth and the small first aid kit they kept under the sink.

When she returned, her mother was sitting in the dim light, her head bowed, eyes closed as if she were trying to retreat somewhere far away. She knelt beside the couch and gently dabbed at the bruises forming on her mother's face, careful not to press too hard.

As she worked, her mother's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other. There was so much unspoken between them—so much pain, fear, and helplessness that neither knew how to put into words. But in that moment, there was also a bond, a silent understanding that they were in this together.

"Thank you," her mother whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I'm so sorry... that you have to see this, that you have to... go through this."

She shook her head again, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. "Don't apologize, Mom. It's not your fault."

But they both knew who was at fault. The man who was supposed to protect them, the man who had promised to love and care for them, had become their greatest source of fear. She clenched the washcloth in her hand, her heart aching with a mix of anger and sorrow.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Eventually, her mother spoke again, her voice still fragile but filled with determination.

"I'm going to leave him," she said, as if she were saying it to convince herself as much as her daughter. "We can't keep living like this. You deserve better than this. We both do."

Her daughter looked at her, hope flickering in her chest, but she knew better than to let it grow. They'd had this conversation before, more times than she could count. Her mother had packed their bags, made promises to leave, only to be drawn back by his apologies, his pleas, his empty promises that things would change.

But something in her mother's eyes was different this time—an exhaustion so deep that it had finally broken through the fear, replacing it with a desperate need for freedom. She wanted to believe it was real this time, that they could finally escape, but doubt lingered in the back of her mind.

"Do you really mean it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mother nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "I do. I have to. For you, for us. I can't keep doing this to you."

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of years of suffering, of false starts and broken promises. But beneath that weight, there was a glimmer of something they hadn't felt in a long time—hope.

She wrapped her arms around her mother, holding her close. "We'll get out, Mom. We'll make it out of here."

Her mother hugged her back, clinging to her as if she were a lifeline. They stayed like that for a long time, drawing strength from each other, trying to believe that this time, things would be different.