It was a cold stormy day. I could hear my parents arguing again. Siera was up in her room listening to music and drawing in her book. John, my twelve month old brother, was in his crib, crying. His upset face burned like a fire.
I was gazing at the window, and I could see the reflection of my parents' faces. I was scared by the expressions that they used toward one another. It was as if they had never loved each other at all.
Then a thought came to my min. We lived in an enormous house, with lots of clothes and toys. Maybe they never loved each other when they got married. Maybe they got married for money, not love. That had to be it! Could I be wrong? I don't know.
I decided that I would rather not hear my parents swearing and yelling at each other. I went up to my brother's room and comforted him 'til he finally stopped crying and went to sleep. I wished that I were him, sleeping with no worries. Siera might have had some problems, but not the kind that would have her scared or frightened.
I don't know how I knew that it would get worse. Could it have been the pain in the pit of my stomach, or was it the thought in my head that kept saying "Your life is going to change and it will get much worse than what is about to happen."
One thing for certain is, you never know what will happen next.
