Chances of That

Prevention Needed

1 Year Later.

"Sophie? Sophie?! Mummy needs you in the kitchen."

I lift my head up just enough to allow myself to see over the tall flowers and plants that I'm crouched behind at the bottom of my garden. I see my mum standing in the kitchen, leaning against the sink whilst cupping a mug of tea in her hands. I smile at her and stand up in order to make my way down the stretch of grass towards my house, but something stops me.

I see a tall man with dark hair in a sort of suit that I'd really only expect to see at halloween. He's accompanied by a shorter man who wears a less stern expression and seems to be talking nonstop to my mother.

I waddle down through the long flowers in my garden, that are the same height as me, and pick a sunflower out of the ground. My feet are coated in mud and my baggy jeans are rolled up to just below my knees. My long, wavy blonde hair runs down my back in a single long plait as I pad up to the door and walk into the deadly silent room.

I hand the flower to my mother and she smiles at me but makes no effort to collect a vase, she simply holds it up to her nose and tries to hide the silent tear that has escaped down her right cheek.

I look at the men standing in my kitchen and scowl. The smaller one smiles at me and crouches down slightly so we're eye level and begins to talk in a soft, cooing voice "Sophie, isn't it?"

My scowl remains on my face as i reply with a slight nod of head. I hate this guy already for upsetting my mum. I wonder what he wants. "We just need you to answer a few simple questions for us, ok sweetie?" He gets out a small, binded notepad and a red pen, and when he looks back at me, his smile has gone.

"Do you happen to know where your daddy's been for the past week?" He says very slowly, making sure I understand the sentence completely.

I hate this feeling of being treated like a child so I hold my head up and answer very boldly with "Of course i do. He is my father after all." and then I turn my head away as if I'm better than him.

He lets out a faint laugh. "Can you tell me where, please?"

I rack my brain trying to think of where mum said he was. I asked her when I'd realised I hadn't seen him for a whole day and she said ... she said. "He's keeping us safe."

I feel proud of myself for remembering what my mother said, but as I steal a glance at her face, I realise I must've said the wrong thing "I mean, i mean he's gone on holiday." I try to salvage what I've done but it's too late.

I see another tear go down my mum's cheek and so does the taller policeman.

"Where is he Mrs Foster?" He asks with almost no emotion in his voice.

This question seems to break my mother completely into full hearted sobs.

I rush to her aid and hug her legs until she bends down and envelops me in her arms.

3 weeks later my dad was arrested for tax avasion. He was jailed for 13 years. It almost broke my mother.

And everyday I think about how it could of been prevented, if only I'd answered the policeman's question differently.