Disclaimer: I do not own any characters you recognize but all other characters and plots are mine
A/N: Hello there. This is my first Fanfic. So I would appreciate it if you didn't completely shoot me down. I hope you enjoy .
Keira's POV:
I could still remember the day. I came home from school and father wasn't home. I remember my mother, waiting by the door and looking very worried. Cuban music danced through the hot night air as gracefully as I had seen my mother and father dance many times. It was their passion.
Someone came to the door but it wasn't father. I put down the book I was reading and hid behind a door so I could listen without them knowing I was there. My long, curly, black hair stuck to my neck and back, wet with sweat from the sweltering night. At sixteen years, mother continually told me I looked more and more like father every day.
I heard my mother scream out father's name and start crying and I feared the worst. Small tears reached my eyes as I heard Tío Carlos comforting my mother, who was sobbing uncontrollably. I remember hearing mother calling my name, looking for me while she cried. I remember not wanting to know what happened and climbing out my bedroom window, running down the streets to escape. I remember Tío Carlos calling my name after me and trying to catch me. But I was too fast. My terror took me faster than anyone. I ran to the beach, where my parents used to always go and fell in the surf, sobbing uncontrollably. Carlos picked me up and carried me back home where he and mother told me everything.
Father had been trying to protect a woman who was being harassed by several men, how many, no one will ever know. He had been stabbed several times and then thrown in the surf for the current to take him out to sea. Everyone wept for father and for mother and I being left behind.
Mother and I stayed in Havana after that terrible night for a grand total of one month. Mother could not bear seeing her home without father. She never danced again and she threw out all of our music. She packed up our things, leaving everything of father's and flew herself and me to America. I didn't know any English except the broken English I spoke with mother and I hated America. I wanted to go back to my home but mother forbade it. She said we would never return to Cuba and neither of us would dance to a Cuban beat again. But I chose to prove her wrong
