She burst into the room, bare feet cold as frost on the slick tiles, slight frame rattling like dominoes against each other. She clutched Teddy to her chest and thought of God and prayed to Him that mommy wasn't hurt, despite not knowing if she was doing it right, or if he could really hear her. There were moans in the room, she thought, moans of agony like when she fell off the swing in the park and sat alone for two hours with a broken ankle before mommy found her, and shaking, creaking, the sound of torture. But when she opened her eyes, she was relieved to find that her mother wasn't harmed, but dancing instead, beneath the sheets with a mysterious man. Oh well, she thought, at least it wan't the funny smelling stuff in a bottle that made mommy make terrible noises and throw dinner up all over the place. At least this time there were no bloodshot eyes, no silvery blades.
Quietly, so queitly that nothing could have happened at all, the little girl padded back to her room and shut the door softly behind her.
