Four Years Later

A flash.

Whooom!

Silenxe. Another flash and...

Whooooom!

Again: silence, lightning and…

Whoooom!

The last one completely lit my bedroom. I was still in bed, but I couldn't fall asleep. The storm was continuing for a while; well, I didn't want to get up. I felt weak, like never before.

I looked at the clock: 3:00 a.m.

I ran a hand through my hair… how much time passed since I took care of myself? How long I had no desie of doing anything? Since I felt so exhausted?

- Almost three months - I muttered to no one.

I rolled on my hip, feeling empty and sad, in this lonely house.

- Almost three months - I repeated, louder.

A sudden feeling of nausea washed over me, but what I could throw up? My own bile? I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

How many nights I spent dreaming of you? My love…

Why did you leave? Why now? You, who dreamed a long and happy life, like that of a fairy tale, didn't deserve to die so young. You had left a huge void… that I didn't want to fill now. No. Never. You were my entire life!

You were so pale in these last weeks, but you relaxed me about it. Then… the rush to the hospital… and the disease that crushed you fragile little life…

You were so different from the girl I saw many years ago, at high school. But my feelings were the same. Even now.

I was by your side that night, until your last breath. I held your incredibly cold hand, powerless limbs.

- Go now. Take care of our precious daughter, Harry. I love you - were your last words, still written in the depth of my soul. Yet, I faltered after your death: I no longer got out after the burial, I cried days and days for you and many times I even thought of killing myself… make the pain stop and see you again. "This is the horrible person that I am" I often repeated to myself, my hands on a knife, pointing at the chest.

Lightning and…

Whooooooooooom!

- Daddy… ?

I whirled around. She was at the door: the short and unkempt black hair framed her pretty face, showing all her childish innocence. She was wearing a pink pajamas and her left hand was clutching her favourite teddy bear, while the other was rubbing her weary eye. She seemed worried.

- What's wrong, honey? - I asked, sitting up.

She opened wide her black eyes:

-I'm scared of the thunderstorms… - she whispered. She looked so pure and sweet, when she felt guilty. The child, unlike me, had passively accepted the death of her mother. We never revealed her she was "adopted", so she thought to be our natural daughter. Maybe, when she will grow up enough…

I really feared that when she probably finds out the truth, she will depart from me. Forever.

- Want to sleep with daddy, sweetie? - I gently asked her.

And she didn't need to be ask twice: she rubbed again her eyes and, after a second, she was next to me, curled under the warm blankets.

She whispered:

- I'm not afraid anymore, Daddy, because you are with me! Can you tell me a story, Daddy? Uhm… Cinderella! Cinderella!

- Alright - I smiled - But after that, we'll sleep.

- I promise!

I began my story. Oh, and we laughed so much.

Cheryl was my only reason for living. She reminded me of my death wife and her last promise. Could she fell the emptiness that I felt? Could she feel the absence of her mother? Sometimes I wonder if her real mother was still alive.

After the "All lived happily ever after" of Cinderella, she sank into a deep sleep.

Some nights, Cheryl rose from her bed and began to walk in her sleep toward the window or the door, as if was trying to escape. But then she woke up, as if nothing had ever happened, and simply went back to sleep. She never mentioned these strange facts to me: I discovered this oddity alone, seeing her walking in the dark hallway, like a ghost. It was very scary the first time. Maybe her sleepwalking problems will end with the age. Anyway she didn't deserve it.

Cheryl was the sweetest girl I'd ever met - very few. I didn't know how to explain her… her…

Well, I grew up with idea that everyone has a dark and bad side and a good half of the soul inside us. I thought she was the exception, the only one. It was like she was devoid of the bad side. It sounded absurd… but so it was: she never cried or annoyed me, Cheryl was an obedient girl. She always surprised me, even when she was a baby: she also never screamed or yelled, and she seemed even greater for her age.

She was a good little girl.

At that very moment, under the storm, there was another little girl. Her figure was covered by a dark coat, and it seemed that she was looking through the closed window of the Mason's. It was like she was spying something.

- There she is - she whispered in the wind.