Prologue: That November Day

November 16th.

That day will stand out to me forever. Every year that day comes around, I am reminded of what happened that day.

The day I finally took my head out of the clouds and made the discovery that reality was a cruel being, not caring who or what it took out of life. From that point forward, I no longer saw the world as I once used to.

When I first went out on my own, I saw the world through rose-colored glasses, as it's frequently said. No one had told me otherwise: my parents were free-thinking people, always telling me that if I just dream hard enough, I could get whatever I wanted. That's how I was raised. The world, however, had different plans for me.

November 16th, 2010, had started out like any other day for me, with some strange differences. I had woken up later that day, later than normal because I had been sick the night before. I panicked, thinking my five-year old daughter, Rosanna, would be late for school. However, I soon remembered that my husband, Nate, had volunteered the night before to drive her. I laid back down, sighing in relief. Then, a few minutes later, the phone on Nate's nightstand rang. Unknowing and naïve, I picked it up.

"Hello?" I had answered in a raspy, cough-rattled voice.

"Are you Mrs. Christine Jenkins?" another voice, unrecognizable to me, replied.

"Yes-*cough, cough*-may I ask who's calling?"

"I'm Officer Derek Higgins of the Indianapolis Police Department. I regret to inform you that your husband, Nathan Jenkins and your daughter Rosanna have been in an accident involving a drunk driver and their injuries were fatal."

That single moment in time was when everything I'd ever known and loved, was shattered. My whole world was crumbling down right in front of my eyes. Everything was out of my control.

And for the first time in my life, I didn't know what to do or say. Even in my weakened, sick state, I felt more powerless than I'd ever felt before.

I hung up the phone, laid back down in bed, and didn't get up for the next four days. My mother and father finally had to come get me out of bed and made me go to the funeral.

Family members I had never met before in my life were consoling me, trying—and failing—to tell me everything was going to be okay. That with time, I'd move on and find someone new to fall in love with and to have another child with. That if I just picked myself up and dusted myself off, I'd be happy again.

I wasn't. Each passing day was harder to get through than the last. Every day, going to and from work, I would pass a little white church. It was the same one that Nate and I had gotten married in seven years before. It was the church that Rosanna was baptized in. It was the church where their funeral was held.

Each day, after work, I stopped in. I'd sit in the pew we used to all sit in during Sunday service, kneel down, and start to pray. It would be the same prayer, over and over again.

"Lord, give me strength to make it through the night and another day, make me stronger even though I feel weak. I pray for the safety of my little girl Rosie and Nate, for their souls are with You now. I pray that angels watch over them, each and every one. Make sure that Rosie keeps herself out of trouble and that Nate doesn't work too hard. I thank You, Lord, for taking in their souls. I know in Your care they will be safe. Amen."

After I would say that, I'd stand up from my knees, look up at the ceiling as if I was looking for them. They never showed, so I always went to leave. But for some reason, I would always feel eyes on me from afar, pouring into me. Like someone was watching me. Perhaps an angel… I had thought. Soon enough, I pushed that thought out of my head and tried to ignore the feeling.

But there was definitely something watching. And I didn't know what.

However, I was going to find out.