Sorry for the absence. You'll be happy to know I suffered for it. Same reason as last time. Free alcohol just about kills me.


"Isabella!" She's kicking. Tumbling. Pulling against my grip. But I'm determined and the street is so near.

"Isabella! Stop!" Your hands are strong on me, bruising the already bruised flesh. "What are you doing? Stop!"

Your gorgeous greens are so angry, so terrified, so worried, swimming with all these emotions. They make me loosen my grip, dropping the home wrecker, clutching onto your tense, tense arms. "Daddy?"

You shush me, bringing me into your bubble, whispering against my hair. "It's okay, sweet girl. I've got you. She can't hurt you anymore."

I sob, these huge intakes of breath, trying to catch a lungful of air. "It's her fault. They were out that day because of the move, and we were moving because of her! She basically killed them!"

"It'll be okay. I'm sorry we didn't tell you." Your kisses do little to calm my swirling thoughts.

"Mom! Oh god, Mom! How was she? Tell me! Was she okay?"

You shake your head. It's so small and so short, I almost don't see it. "She was coping. She thought the move would help. She wanted to save her family."

I peek from behind your arms, and there she is, being helped up from the ground by Mrs. Webber, crying as if her heart has been broken. "Don't, Bella! Don't look at me like that!"

"How can you stand there? Blaming other people? Your selfishness killed my family!"

She steps closer, her fists clenched, held back by Mrs. Webber's frail hand. "My selfishness?" Her scary darks glance quickly at you and I want to slap her for it. "Take a good look at who you're living with."

"I think it's time for you to go," Mrs. Webber says, showing her strength in her weathered fingers.

Aunt Sue shrugs them off, futilely brushing her mangled outfit back into place. "Fine. I'm going." She pauses, giving me a hard look. "I'm not coming back."

"Good riddance."

You pull me in deeper, and the only confirmation I have that she's gone, out of our lives for good, is the squeal of tires she leaves behind and your soft reassurances. "It's ok, sweet girl. She's gone. She won't bother us ever again. I'll make sure of it."

"Is she all right?" Mrs. Webber asks. Her voice sounds so far away as if she not only crossed back into her own lawn but fifty lawns over as well.

"She will be. She's strong," you say, leading us back to the house. "I'm sorry about all of this, Mrs. Webber."

Her worried voice cuts you off. "Don't worry about it, dear. You just take care of that little girl."

Your body is warm when you pick me, cradling me close as if I weigh nothing, as if there's nothing in this world that could stop you. "I will."