Prologue

16 years ago

I ran into my father's study. The warm glow of the sun shined on my face as I stepped through the sliding doors. "Father! Father! Look at my dress! Isn't it pretty?" I twirled in my new, bright yellow dress. I was quite a keen 4 year old. My mother had always taught me well. She was probably the only one around when I was younger. My father was always on business trips or leaving in the middle of the night doing who knows what. He was a hard-working father. I suppose he was the one who gave us all we had. Food on our table, a large house, any clothing we would want. Still, as a 4-year old, I had no idea of all the sacrifices that he made.

"Yes Olive, it is very lovely. Now, go see your mother, I am sure she will love how it looks." He smiled warmly. I feel that even some of his warmest smiles were fake. I still loved him dearly.

I rounded the corner into our kitchen. Our house was a winding maze of many twists and turns. Somehow I had memorized how to find my way around after many games of hide and seek with my sister, Maritza. The cold floor of the kitchen blasted a chill up my spine. Throughout the house, the floors were all hardwood, but in the kitchen, it was shiny quartz flooring. 

My mother, of course, was cooking. She always had a knack for making the most delicious meals I could get my hands on. 

The air smelled sweet with a hint of savoriness to it. She cooked something new every night so I could not guess what I would eat anytime soon. "Mother! Look at my dress!" I gleaned up at her. She was humming a tune that I could not yet recognize. My mother had the most beautiful voice. My favorite memories are of her singing to me.

"It is just gorgeous on you, button!" My mother always called me button because of my small nose. I hated my nose. 

She kissed me lightly on the forehead and continued singing her song. I was listening so intently that I hadn't noticed my sister Maritza come hug and tickle me from behind.

"Hello my little Olive!" She engulfed me in a tight hug while laughing. I squealed and struggled to get out of her freakishly big arms. At this point I crumpled to the ground in a laughing mess. My mother was obviously getting a little annoyed, but in a kind way.

"Girls, go set the table" She smiled. My sister groaned in protest but complied. 

A bright chandelier hung above our dining table. I watched as it slowly swung, making its tiny diamonds glisten in the afternoon light. Even our forks were extravagant. Each one encrusted a black diamond making them reflect along with the light of the chandelier. 

Tonight we had such a delicious dinner. Lamb chops, gravy, mashed potatoes, sparkling water, and of course dessert. Ice cream sundays. I cleaned my dinner plate, eating every last bit. Each night we eat, I get a new favorite meal, at least until the next night. That's the thing with my mom's cooking, everything is just too good. Once my mother passed out dessert I had already finished half of it by the time my mother sat down. I had almost not noticed the big Vanilla ice cream stain on my new dress until my mother exclaimed "Olive! You clumsy girl" She laughed to herself quietly as she wiped down my dress with a napkin. 

As Maritza and I started going upstairs to go to bed,she started to tickle me, until we both heard two loud bangs. One bang, nothing happened. The second bang was when everything started falling apart. My mother started crying. Blood was everywhere. Surrounding my mother was broken glass from plates and cups. Blood on her neck, on her leg, and on her arm, everywhere covered in blood. My father rushed to her side as quickly as he could. He carried her to the car in a rush, and then came back into the house. He motioned us up the stairs, said he loved us and goodnight, and then left. It's funny how quickly a happy situation can turn bad. Me and Maritza just looked at each other. We sat down on the steps next to each other and just tried to comprehend what happened. Maritza was the first to move, after a good solid 5 minutes, and even then, she said nothing. Being a 4 year old, I barely had any idea of what was happening. All I saw was blood. On mother. That meant that mother was hurt. Really hurt. And that was all I really understood from the situation.