Charlie's Angel

2

Chris never showed up.

Paris and I waited for three hours to see if he would show up, but he never did. We waited until the sky started fading into its beautiful pinks and oranges before I finally gave up. Both aggravated that I believed him and afraid that I would finally have to face Paris's father, my husband, Aaron.

"Come on, girlie," I sighed. She looked up at me with her big brown eyes, same as her father's. I held out my hand to her and she took it. We walked to the edge of the park, turned right, and headed home. We only walked because Aaron had the car, but it wasn't that far of a walk. Thirty minutes, tops.

"Mommy, I'm hungry." She spoke in that small voice of hers. She walked like most three, swaying her head side-to-side and taking big steps.

"I am too, sweetie," I murmured. I made us wait for the little white hand to appear under the traffic light, signaling us to cross the street.

"Mommy, who was that boy?" she asked thoughtfully.

I bit the inside of my cheek, my heart thudded. "He was Mommy's friend."

"Is he like Daddy?"

I stopped walking, bent down to her level; she looked at me and I held her hands in my own. I knew what she meant and I hated it. "No, sweetie. He's a nice man. I promise."

"Will he hit you like Daddy?"

I choked. "No, he won't. He's a nice boy."

"I don't like when Daddy hits you."

"I don't either, Paris."

"Why does he hit you?" She looked up at me, the sun making her brown eyes lighter; it was crazy how she had greenish-brown and I had grayish-brown eyes. I could tell that she had been wanting to ask that question for a long time. She was so curious, but already wise beyond her three-year-old self. She was making full sentences by one and a half.

"Daddy gets angry easily."

"Will he hit me?" she asked suddenly.

I could feel myself getting light headed. If Aaron ever touched a hair on his daughter's head, I'd kill him without a second thought. I'd snap his neck in two. "Of course not. I promise."

We walked the rest of the way home in silence.

I picked her up before I pushed through the front door, only because he usually got me as soon as I got a foot over the threshold. He wasn't by the front door, so I went further in. I headed into the kitchen, handed her two Oreos, and nudged her into the living room to watch TV while I made her dinner. Chicken nuggets and mac n cheese.

While the nuggets were in the oven and the noodles were boiling, I relaxed on the couch behind her. I watched her peel her oreos apart and eat the cream in the middle first and then finish with the cookies. She got that from her father.

Speaking of her father, he walked through the front door without muttering a word to us and went into the kitchen. He was saying something to himself, though, but I didn't say anything.

"Hi Daddy," Paris piped up, giving him a smile.

"Hey," was all he said.

Her smile faded and she went back to watching Doc McStuffins. I hated when he did this to her, when he would completely blow her off. It pissed me off.

I sat at the table and watched her eat. She had the cutest little eating mannerisms. The chicken nuggets, which were shaped like dinosaurs, were decapitated and dipped into ketchup and eaten piece by piece. She ate the heads first, followed by the bodies. And the macaroni and cheese was shaped like Spongebob characters, and she gave different voices to the different noodles. One noodle at a time, she acted like a monster and ate them.