SOUL

mary's mothers death / visitation

April 2nd, 2007

Marigold sat at the kitchen table, her eyes fixed on the cup of tea she hadn't touched. She was trying to steady herself, trying to ignore the gnawing anxiety that had been eating at her all day. The air in the house felt heavier than usual, and she didn't know why, but a part of her was afraid to find out.

The front door swung open, and she flinched, her head snapping up. Her father stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot and cold. He didn't look at her right away, just tossed his keys onto the counter with a loud clatter. For a moment, the room was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Finally, he turned to her, his expression twisted into a sneer. "Well, I've got news for you," he said, his voice slurring slightly. "Your mother's dead."

Marigold's heart stopped. She stared at him, her mind refusing to process the words. "What?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "No, that... that can't be—"

"She's dead," he snapped, cutting her off, as if annoyed by her disbelief. "Drove herself into a damn tree. Drunk off her ass, like always."

Marigold felt the world spin around her, her chest tightening as she struggled to breathe. "No," she said, her voice breaking. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she could barely see as she shook her head. "No, no, no..."

"Stop it," he said sharply, his tone turning harsh. "I said, stop it!"

But she couldn't. The tears kept coming, hot and fast, streaming down her cheeks as she covered her face with her hands, her sobs choking her. She couldn't believe it—couldn't understand how her mother, even as troubled as she was, could be gone just like that.

"Jesus Christ, you're pathetic," he spat, stepping closer, his shadow looming over her. "Crying like a baby. She's better off dead, you hear me? At least now she can't embarrass herself, or me, any more than she already has."

Marigold's stomach churned, and she looked up at him, her vision blurry with tears. "How can you say that?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "She was my mom."

"She was useless," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing. "Good for nothing. At least now, she's not a burden anymore. And you'd better stop crying, or I'll give you a reason to cry."

She tried to stifle her sobs, biting down on her lip so hard she could taste blood. But the pain and the grief were too much, and she couldn't stop the tears from falling.

Her father's hand lashed out, striking her hard across the face. The force of the blow knocked her off balance, and she stumbled, her hand flying to her cheek as a sharp, stinging pain radiated through her skin. "I said, stop crying!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the room.

Marigold's sobs turned into quiet, broken gasps as she clutched her face, the shock and hurt making it hard to breathe. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear, but he just glared down at her, his lip curled in disgust.

"Things are going to change around here," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Now that she's gone, you're going to pick up the slack. That means more chores, more responsibility. You understand me?"

Marigold couldn't bring herself to respond, her throat tight with grief and terror. But her silence only seemed to make him angrier, and he stepped closer, leaning down so that his face was inches from hers.

"I said, do you understand me?" he hissed, his breath hot and sour against her skin.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling, barely a breath. "I understand."

"Good," he said, straightening up, his eyes still fixed on her with that same cold, hateful look. "Because if you don't, I'll make sure you do."

Marigold nodded weakly, tears still streaming down her face, but she didn't dare make a sound. She just wanted him to leave, to go away and stop hurting her. But even as he turned and walked away, she could feel the weight of his words pressing down on her, suffocating her, and she knew things would only get worse from here.