Suffering Hearts

The house used to be so light, full of energy and happiness. There was always a smiling face in the residence, usually the woman of the house. And it was such a beautiful house too, two stories tall and completely white with tan rimmed windows and sliding glass doors that led to a large outdoor porch and pool. It was everything that the woman of the house thought that her daughter would have wanted when coming to the largest city in the United States. It cost a fortune, but it was well worth it to see her daughter come home to something that she could call hers. Inside the house seemed even more incredible. Two guest bedrooms and one bathroom that included a shower and a bathtub each on every floor, the master on the second floor where the mother could be near her daughter. In the living room the walls were cream-colored, and antique paintings were placed on each wall. Shelves of pictures and antiques lined the walls, a sixty-inch Samsung TV. Two leather sofas sat facing each other in the living room with a low, silver and glass coffee table in the middle with a green-silver swirling vase of decorative pink flowers, a grey rug under it all. Bean bags sat in front of the TV where a gaming system was installed. The kitchen included your average but unusually clean oven and refrigerator, silver, long-necked fountain sinks, and was surrounded by white-tiled walls and the counters were marbled black and grey speckled, the cabinets filled with dining room table, cooking utensils, canned food items, and more. It was the place where the mother and daughter were supposed to have fun cooking together, getting messy with trying to come up with new recipes and having their last years of the daughter living with her before she would have to go off to college. There was a sliding door in the kitchen that led outside to the pool, where the daughter was supposed to spend her summers having fun with her soon-to be new friends when they got out of school.

But ever since a few weeks ago, the house was darker and even lonelier than it should have been. Most of the lights were turned off, only lamps and candles having been lit, making it look and feel like a haunted house. When the divorced husband hurried to New York to accompany his ex-wife in the search of their daughter, the police had informed them that they would do everything that they could, and that the frightened parents would have to wait. But that had been weeks ago, and still no sign of their precious Abigale. How could have the girl had gone so suddenly? Had she been kidnapped by some psycho? The police surely would have found her by now… Did she run away for some reason? If so, why? What reasons did she have of running away? The police had talked to everybody, even the boyfriend who lived in her hometown, who had been the last one to speak to her. But he had said that they had spoken on the phone, but that nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

In the lonely house, a brown-haired depressed and fatigued man in his sleeping robes sat at the dining room table, staring at paperwork from his part-time job that he'd taken since he got to New York. He knew that he had to have something to keep him occupied while he was in New York, having abandoned his job at home to come here and await their daughter's arrival home.

Ever since he came to New York City, Christopher and his ex-wife, Martha, hadn't spoken much at all due to the grief of the loss of their only child. He had never felt such guilt in his life. If he'd only tried to stay with Martha for a while longer, to try to adapt to her way of seeing things, to give it more time, their daughter would have still been with them, and not alone and lost out on the streets somewhere. Or worst… she might have been… Christopher couldn't stand the thought of losing his baby girl. It was hard enough to have to let her go to New York, where he couldn't protect her. But to know that she was somewhere in New York, knowing nothing about where she was, or where to go, he felt so helpless and alone. This… This was all his fault, he told himself again and again, only feeling his despair grow within him.

He sighed as he rubbed his throbbing temples, sitting back in his chair at the dining room table with the only light accompanying him a bright lamp on the opposite end of the table. He turned his gaze towards the ticking clock that hung on the wall, seeing that it was already 10:34 pm. He blinked his tired eyes and pulled up his sleeve to at his watch, cringing when he realized just how sore his wrist was from writing documents. He took a deep breath as he rolled his fist, trying to wear out the soreness. He wasn't used to all of this writing… He should be working in construction, using his whole body to operate machinery and equipment. Using just one part of his body was strange, but he put up with it, for he knew that he would have to until they found their daughter.

My poor Abby-girl… he thought sadly, taking out his wallet and slipping out a picture of his blonde-haired little girl, who in the picture was smiling awkwardly for her school's annual photos. He smiled lovingly, his eyes glossing over as he looked at the beautiful picture of his baby girl, his thumb brushing against the surface of the picture. Oh how he missed her so… What he would have done to keep her with him… He would have gone out to look for her himself, but he didn't know New York. He didn't know his way around enough to go out and look for her without getting lost himself. He… had no choice but to leave it to the police. But where they even doing their jobs? Day in and day out, Christopher awaited a call from them, begging for them to call, to tell him and Martha they had found Abigale. But they never did… Feeling his anger boil up, he began to question the polices' efforts to look for their daughter, and he wondered if they even cared at all.

"Damn it…" he murmured with a frown, shoving his paperwork away. Maybe he could go check on the polices' search, go to the station and ask about their progress. At least it would give him some peace of mind that they were still working on the case, if they told him their progress. The wooden legs of the chair squealing against the tile floor, he pushed the chair back and stood to his feet. He walked through the living room and as quietly as he could upstairs, on his way to the master bedroom. Once there, he started his way towards his side of the bed, but then he paused. Martha was sitting up in bed, the lamp lit dimly on her side of the bed. He could see that her makeup had been washed off, and that her eyes were reddened from old tears. Her blonde hair was in a messy clip with pieces of hair dangling in her face. Hunched over, a piece of paper was in her hands.

"Martha?" he called out to her in a hushed voice. He wondered if she even wanted to talk to him at all. Ever since Abigale's disappearance, the two hadn't spoken properly in a long time, but he knew that all she was doing was taking her time, trying to cope and grieve. He wouldn't blame her. He didn't feel like talking about the situation himself.

She turned her tearful gaze to him and then began to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. Sniffling, she blinked her eyes a few times to clear her vision before looking at her ex-husband. "Huh?" she mumbled, and then she cleared her choked up throat. "What is it?"

He showed a concerned expression, his brows raising. "Are you alright?"

She turned her eyes to look at the paper in her hands, and she smiled unsurely. "It's... It's a picture of Abby…"

Christopher's eyes closed to half-lidded, his brow furrowing in a sympathetic, but also hurt expression, his heart hurting despite his efforts to try to remain as calm as he could. "Hmm…"

"I still can't believe that she's gone…" Martha breathed shakily, attempting to brush a piece of hair out of her face but failing when she was too tired to care anymore.

He was silent for a moment, trying to think of what to say next. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that they would find Abigale, and that their daughter was alright. But he couldn't tell her that… He didn't want to make a promise that he couldn't keep, especially since it was their daughter that they were talking about. But the words he was looking for wouldn't come to him, so he just sighed, and he walked over to the dresser on his side of the bed.

The noise caught Martha's and she turned her gaze to see that he was digging through his dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and pants. She then frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to the police station," he replied softly, but she caught a note of irritation in his voice that she couldn't tell was directed to her or something else. "I'm going to see what progress they've made."

She then frowned, and she clenched the picture in her hand. "I don't see any point in it…" she said through her teeth. "She's… she's probably… dead, anyway…"

His muscles locked in place as he was pulling out a pair of socks, dropping them onto the floor while his eyes widening and his heart jolting as he snapped his head around to glare at her in disbelief. "What did you just say?" he asked stiffly, his fists clenched as he tried to reply her words in his mind.

She shook her head quickly, her hair starting to already fall out of place. "N-Nothing…"

He took in a sharp breath and turned to her, marching over to the side of the bed and slamming his hands onto the comforter. "No! No, d-don't you ever, EVER say that! She is NOT dead!"

She then showed her deadly gaze to him, glaring daggers at him with her eyes streaming tears. "How do you know?! How do you know that, Christopher? She could be out there alive, but she's probably starving by now! She alone, cold, and it's very likely that she's with some psycho maniac that's holding her! On the other hand, she could be dead! And its all YOUR FAULT!"

He gritted his teeth, his eyes stinging as he faltered dreadfully. "I… I… MY fault?!"

"If you hadn't had ever filed for that damn divorce, she would had still been with us, we would have still been together, still have been safe and happy. But you ruined everything, Christopher!" she screamed.

"I did what I thought was best for us!" he retorted, his forehead wrinkling up as he glared at her. "You wanted to start traveling, so I thought that it was best for her to stay with you since you made more money. But hell, you had to come to NEW YORK CITY! The most populated city in AMERICA! Oh perfect plan, Martha, such a perfect idea to bring her here."

"I wanted her to live the life that I didn't have the option of having when I was a little girl!" Martha snapped, standing up now and facing him. "You were always off on construction duty while she stayed home, texting her boyfriend and having nothing better to do than sit and watch TV. I wanted her to get out and see things that I never got to see, and see them for myself! But you were always so caught up in your damn work that you never saw how lonely she was!"

"Lonely?" Christopher snorted as he threw his hands out with his palms up. "She had a BOYFRIEND, Martha! She had friends in school, she had group studies almost every weekend! How would you call that lonely?!"

"She didn't have her father!" Martha answered. "You were never there…"

He then let his expression soften, his eyes widening in realization. That was why Abigale didn't object to leaving so suddenly when Martha had announced that she had bought the plane tickets. He had been blind-sighted by the announcement, but Abigale had been more than happy to leave, and he had been actually heart-broken to not have much time to talk to her. Martha had been so excited about getting to leave, that she never thought about how Christopher felt. Hell, she was divorced. What reasons did she ever have of caring? She was free to do her business and go where she pleased. Honestly, he didn't care where she went. He was more worried about his daughter, and her wellbeing.

"She waited for you day in and day out, but you always came home so late that she was already asleep. Even on days that you came home before her you were already asleep! She started going out with her boyfriend more often, but she wanted to be with you more. You and your stupid construction… You were never her father after you got that job!"

"ALRIGHT!" he suddenly bellowed, causing her eyes widen and her body to lean back in surprise and actually fear. His face as red as a Coca-Cola can, she'd never seen him this angry before. "I get it. I was never home and I never spent family time with you and Abigale." His voice became wavered and he gripped his hair, collapsing onto the bed and bending over his knees, and when he spoke again his voice was muffled. "I just… I didn't… Oh God… My little Abby…"

Martha stared at him for a good long while with a stunned face and her hands frozen at her sides, shocked by his outburst. The two had had come arguments before, but they had never escalated to him shouting at her. Suddenly she felt guilty and regretted her words and previous thoughts. She clenched her eyes shut, feeling hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Putting a hand to her mouth, she desperately tried to prevent herself from letting out a pitiful sob. Now that her words caught up with her mind and she processed them, her chest tightened and she began to choke up as she collapsed back onto the bed, her legs having become weak from her emotions.

He on the other hand didn't think to keep himself from breaking down. A choked, gargling sound escaped his mouth as mucus drained from his congested system into his throat. He coughed, gritting his teeth as his heart burned in despair and desperation. This was why he avoided arguments with her. He could never handle it. She was stronger spirited, and he broke down too easily. Maybe that was why he had married her from begin with, because she was a much stronger person, and that he thought that maybe she would have rubbed off on him. But he guessed that it never happened, and he was still the weaker of the two.

The woman let her watering, reddening eyes wander slowly to look at him. His shoulders shook violently as he broke down into tears, and she mentally scolded herself for her words. She knew that he had only meant well for the family to the begin with, but she had to go and ruin what hopes he had of finding their daughter by saying the worst thing she could possibly say. A sob escaped her and she buried her face in her hands, feeling her sorrow swallow her up.

"Abby…" she wept pitifully as she looked down at her now tear-damped photo of her daughter. "Please come home…"

I can imagine that during the time of Abigale's absence, her parents would be suffering as they worry deeply for the safety of their child, and as a divorced couple, they would probably have arguments and say things that they didn't mean. I decided to show a little realism within with maybe the reasons why Abigale and Martha would have come to New York in the first place. Martha only wanted their daughter to live a fun and care-free life when her husband was more realistic but wanted the best for his daughter anyway. I got a review a while back before I changed this story, when it was called Interesting, and it said something about me not mentioning anything much about Abigale's parents' views, or if anybody was looking for her. So I thought it would be slightly fitting to show everything from her parents' point of view, and how they felt about the situation.