My poor daughter

Moriah's POV

My entire body almost refused to cooperate with me as I slowly got up from the bed. Dried tears wet my pillow as usual, and I grabbed the glass of water Estelle had kindly placed by my bedside table, and took a huge sip.

The cool water washed down my dry throat and cleared my head a little.

But the companionable sadness that taking root in my mind could never be shaken. Each time I woke up, my mind was instantly plagued by the years of undying trauma accumulated in my brain. Sometimes I looked at a corner of my bedroom and flinched as if a glass vase would be randomly flying at me.

The scar under my hair throbbed sometimes, even though it was an old scar.

I got it when Mike, Vanessa’s father, smashed a heavy glass vase on my head when Vanessa was little. She had gone to school, and he had turned me into his punching bag as usual. I had bled so heavily that day, more than I have ever done in my entire forty six years of living.

I had thought I would die, and no feeling wa