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Picking up the Pieces

The little girl quietly watched as her mother packed their things into a suitcase. Five years old, with not clue what was happening, only being told she was going to Disney World.

Her mother’s words could not have been any further than the truth. She and her daughter were escaping from control and fear and her husband.

This man was mentally, physically, and emotionally abusive to the girl’s mother. The little girl did not know her father was doing this, or that her family was torn apart. All she cared about was what she would say to Minnie Mouse.

The girl’s mother almost finished packing when she heard the keys turn the lock of the front door. The mother left the bedroom. The little girl then heard her parents arguing, followed by a loud thud. Her mother, thrown on the living room floor, was unconscious.

Her father went into the room where she was. He grabbed the suitcase, threw it across the room, shattering the mirror on the wall.

The little girl, curled up in a ball on the edge of the bed, had tears streaming down her face. The father stared his child in the eyes, as if he had never seen her before. He had a faraway look, and glassy eyes. He muttered something under his breath as he picked up the keys and left the room. She heard him yell at her helpless mother just as he slammed the door.

The little girl slowly got up from her fetal position, and walked into the living room. Seeing her mother lying on the floor, she knew she had to do something quick. She saw a destroyed room, mirroring the shattered family that she had.

She was scared. She was lonely. She had no choice but to call for help. She dialed 911, as instructed in emergencies, and took the first step of putting the pieces back together.

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