Sienna's Sorrow

Prologue

Prologue

One month and sixteen days after Dad died, Mom decided that it was time to move. Move away from Florida, and from his family, and the house he died in. I couldn’t exactly argue with her, I guess. Being in that house brought back memories of fighting and images that I couldn’t get out of my head from the night that we found him dead.

My parents got along okay, mostly because of my sister and me. We had a nice house, they could afford to send us to a private school that was more like a college for kids, and we had every single thing that we needed. But we still weren’t happy, which sucked. Even at a young age I saw the fragility of the family, and that if one thing happened, it would all go up in flames.

Then Dad died.

Mom almost did too, but that’s not the point.

I shoved a few more miscellaneous things into my book bag, and I heard my sister crying next door. I sighed heavily. I had heard so much crying this past month, and I couldn’t find it in my heart to console them anymore. I didn’t want to think about it and remember any more than they did. I just handled it differently: I didn’t let myself cry.

“Scarlett,” Mom said softly through the door.

I gave no reply as she opened the door slowly. “Were you planning to do anything about Sophia?”

I shook my head, not allowing myself to speak. Every time I opened my mouth I would pathetically whimper and hate my life and wonder why Dad had to die and why our family was so fragile and why nothing could go right for someone who had it all.

I finished packing after a long four days so we could leave for Maine in the morning. Mom had family there. A lot of cousins, aunts, uncles, my grandparents.

Everything was supposed to get better.

It wasn’t supposed to be this awful anymore.

I wouldn’t be reminded of Dad at every single turn, and I wouldn’t have to imagine him coming down the stairs as I ate breakfast before school and did last minute homework or studying and kiss me on the forehead before he left for work. I wouldn’t have to imagine him coming home with bags of fast food or boxes of pizza or random presents he would bring Sophia and I on days where we had big tests or he had sensed that something was wrong with us that morning. I wouldn’t have to imagine him shaking a boy’s hand one day as he came up the front steps to take Sophia or myself out on a date, because even though he had done it a few times already, it was still important to have Dad’s approval on any guy that came into our lives.

I wouldn’t have to image it anymore.

I knew everyone thought of me as the one who didn’t care, and the one who had gotten over his death somewhat, but I hadn’t. It’s not something you come to terms with overnight, it’s a process over a course of nights where you scream ‘why’ at God and cry yourself to sleep thinking about all of the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘could have been’s’ for years and years.