Sorry about Maggie, kind of a lame explanation why she wasn't at the funeral but it'll have to do. Also, I'm not sure how much younger Maggie is than the other kids, so please write me a message and correct me if I'm wrong… Sorry again!
Marge opened the door as quietly as she could, but before she had closed it she heard the scraping of chairs and footsteps hurrying out into the hall.
"Where were you last night?" Lisa said and frowned. "We were worried."
"I…" I ended up sleeping with Mr Flanders and couldn't bother to leave earlier. "I fell asleep on Mr Flanders couch. We were, ehm, watching some home videos," she lied and looked at her children.
"Maggie's here," Lisa said and felt something stir inside of her. "She… she wished she could have come," she covered for her sister, who had run away two years ago after a big fight between her and Homer. Lisa knew Maggie hated their father bitterly, but she had still looked a bit shaken up when she arrived at their door.
"Maggie was here?" Marge said and could feel tears burning behind her eyelids.
"I am here, mom," a familiar voice said and Marge turned towards the living room. "Oh, Maggie, don't ever do that again!" She rushed over to hug her daughter, who had been on the run for the past two years.
"I won't," Maggie promised.
"How'd you find out about your father?" Marge said and held her daughter's shoulders and carefully studied her.
"Word's on the street," Maggie said. "How could anyone miss the fact that Homer Simpson committed suicide because-"
"Let's get you something warm to eat, honey," Marge interrupted. Maggie was the only one who knew about Homer's affair, and Marge wasn't ready to tell the other children about it yet. She ushered Maggie into the kitchen and sat her down at the table.
"Mom, really, you don't-" Maggie started.
"I'm making you waffles," Marge said. "You haven't had my waffles for years, and I think it's right about time you had some."
"Mom!" Maggie said and Marge turned against her. "You haven't told them yet, have you?"
"Honey," Marge said and sighed. She knelt down beside Maggie's chair. "Maggie, look at me. I know you're very mad with your father, and I know you think you hate him." Maggie stubbornly gazed through the window. "Maggie, please listen to me. There's nothing to do about you not going to the funeral yesterday, but if you could just go to the graveyard and leave a flower, anything. Your father would be so happy!"
"Well, guess what mom?" Maggie said. "I don't care about Homer. I don't care if he'd be happy. Homer Simpson is not my father!"
"Maggie," Marge whispered. "No matter what you say, he is and will always be your father. He loved you." Marge bit her lip, hesitating. "And what ever you say, he loved me too."
"Mom, can't you see it?" Maggie said and got up from the chair. "He stopped loving you years ago. The minute he decided to sleep with her, he stopped loving you!"
"No!" Marge said and stood up. She wouldn't have this in her own kitchen.
"Yes, mom, get a grip! He didn't love you!" Maggie left the kitchen, but turned in the doorway. "I know you know. Or you would never have gone to Flanders' house last night." She rushed up the stairs and slammed the door to her old room.
"Mom?" Lisa and Bart came into the kitchen. Marge sunk down onto a chair and stared ahead of her with a distant look in her eyes. "Mom, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, honey," Marge said in a far from convincing voice.
"Was Maggie telling the truth?" Bart said and sat down opposite her. "About Homer?" Marge leaned her head in her hands.
"Yes," she said after a while.
"Oh, mom, why didn't you tell us?" Lisa said and knelt down beside Marge.
"I didn't want you to hate him," Marge sobbed and stretched for a tissue. "Like your sister does." Lisa hugged her mom and whispered into her ear.
"We don't," she whispered. "We're just mad. So is Maggie. But she can't see what it's doing to you, when she acts out like that," she finished and handed Marge a new tissue.
Her nights were filled with nightmares. Her days were filled with obstacles she had to climb, jump and crawl constantly. Just a simple thing, like going to the Kwik-E-Mart was a struggle. Every single thing seemed to remind her about Homer, and thinking about Homer wasn't easy.
It was like it wasn't enough that she had to dream about him at night. Him - and that woman. Marge didn't even know her name. Then again, she hardly knew her own name nowadays.
It was one of those days. Lisa had gone back to college, and Bart was busy working. Maggie was still mad at Marge, and that alone was making the obstacles harder to climb, harder to jump, harder to crawl through. They were out of milk. Marge sat down in the car and drove off. Maggie hadn't responded when Marge knocked at the door and asked her if she would like to come. Marge worried, constantly - what if she climbed out the window again? But Maggie was hardly that dumb.
Marge got out of the car and stepped into the Kwik-E-Mart. People were living their every day lives, as usual - Marge discovered she found it very strange that the world hadn't come to a stop when Homer died. Like it had done for her. People just lived their ordinary lives while Marge sat on the sofa wishing the old buffoon was alive.
She got her milk and quickly headed for the cash register, but a familiar face caught her eye. She stopped and pretended to choose what sort of ice cream to buy, and studied the face carefully.
Where had she seen her before?
Suddenly she remembered - in her own bed.