BEATRICE
“Mom!” Ten year old me screamed from the stairs as I saw my mother plummet to the floor next to my father, who was also bleeding to death.
“Take Beatrice with you and run as far as you can,” I heard him say to the lady by his side, who was crying.
“I’m not leaving you here. Get up,” she replied, but he ordered him once again to take me with her. I was rushed towards a car by two kind men, and one of them made me feel comfortable and safe as he held me in his arms inside the car.
“Where’s my mom?” I asked, knowing she won’t be with me anymore, but I only hoped. The lady, who I later learned was named Aubrey, tried to calm me down and explain to me what happened, and that they will take care of me from now on.
For some reason, I believed and trusted her. As soo
