The apartment was small but it was a home, it provided a shelter for the small family. The family was made up of a young energetic five year old and caring mother and a father. The child loved her parents even if they fought sometimes, she still loved them. She was sure that they would get over this fighting and that her father would be home more often. He tells her it's because work but unlike her mother he doesn't let her tag along at any given time. The young girl had currently been in her small room, doodling away at the notebook her mother had given her for birthday yesterday. When she heard the door open she dropped the crayon she had and picked up her book before heading out of her room and into the living room, a huge smile upon her face when she saw her father walk in the door.
"Daddy, look what I did today." She grinned bouncing her way towards him, holding out her notebook for him to look at. The image was an attempt at the family with her in the middle of her parents with them all holding hands. A frown slowly formed upon the five year olds face as her father didn't seem to acknowledge that she was talking to him; he just sat himself down on the couch. Determined to show her father her artwork she stood in front of him, putting the artwork right in front of his face. "Look Daddy, it's you, me and mummy. I drew this today; we will be like this right?"
"Maya be quiet! I'm trying to watch my shows." Her father spoke as he pushed the picture out of his view, making his daughter tumble a little and trip over her little feet. A few seconds later she started to cry; her mother coming in running to pick her up. "She is just being a child; making noise just for you to come get her."
"She is a child and you can't even look at her picture." Her mother shot back at the male sitting on the couch before she bent down to pick up her daughter's notebook. Giving the little girl in her arms a light smile as she saw the picture. "It's lovely sweetheart. I have an idea, why don't you spend the night with Grandma's and I'll pick you up after my shift at work."
The little blonde nodded her head and buried her head into her mother's neck, holding onto tightly. She liked visiting her Grandma, she always made things fun and would always draw with her. Mother and daughter went to get ready and in no time the pair were ready. They left; though they weren't the only ones to leave that night. They just were the only ones to come back to the apartment. He had left them; he took a few things and left no note. It was like he couldn't get out of there any faster. Frantically the young artist tried to find her father in the apartment, hoping that it was just some practical joke he was playing on her and her mother. But after a week of him not coming back the once energetic girl lost all her energy and she felt like nothing she could do would work. Her room was her haven now; her notebook now filled with sketches and scribbles.
"Maya this is wonderful." Topanga spoke with a smile as she looked at the drawing. She then pulled out another file before going through it. She seemed to find the thing she was looking for and pulled out a piece of paper. She then turned both picture to face the sixteen year old who was sitting across from her. The images were similar; one had innocence to it while the other seemed to be given hiding a lot of secrets. A father, daughter and mother all holding hands. "Your mother said this was around the time you stopped speaking, and now…you've done re drawn this image. After sometime that your father left you, is that around the same time you saw the girl on the bridge?"
The artist shook her head, no it wasn't. She then wrote upon her board 'No. He left when I was five. The bridge girl was a month before I was sent here.' Erasing the writing to then write 'My father left and I couldn't do anything about it. I pushed him over the edge.'
A small frown formed on her therapist lips. "You are not the reason your father left. He left on his own accord Maya."
She just shook her head. No he left because of her. She stood in front the TV and she was the one who annoyed him. She was the one who her parents fought about the most; it was her fault that he left. That is what she thinks, and nearly eleven years no one has been able to make her think otherwise. 'IT IS.' Tears started to form a little in her blue eyes but she didn't dear let them fall so she blinked them away, and let her eyes fall to the ground.
"Maya…You can't blame yourself." A buzzer went off, signalling the session was over so Topanga handed back the notebook and Maya stood up placing the notebook under her arm. Before she left the room, she heard what her next drawing assignment was and her head was already sketching it out in her mind for her.