When A Heart Breaks

It don't break even, and thats the truth.
I grew up in a fairy tale. Honestly, I had two loving parents who gave me everything I wanted without spoiling me. I had a baby sister, we had a beautiful ranch with a lamp post in the front yard perfect for running around in circles and the most beautiful orange swing set.  Orange is my favorite color, has been since I was four. Big huge trees lined the yard and shadowed a slightly creepy wooden play house, just my size. Every single holiday my mother would decorate the house, every day she'd cook a home cooked meal. One of my favorite memories was when I used to play outside for hours in the summer and Mama would call us in to dinner. About five o'clock the whole neighborhood started sending up smells of dinner, Mama's was spaghetti with home made sauce, Daddy would be home, the tv would be playing the evening game shows and we'd sit down to say dinner prayers as the sun began sinking behind the trees.

I mean what more could a girl want? I had it all, my parents adored me, my little sister was my world and I was hers. I had toys, I had food, I had love.

Then I turned 7... it was the summer of my 7th birthday when my world shattered.
My mother had fallen ill but she had hidden it fairly well, in a way she graciously introduced it to our lives so it wasn't jarring, but it was different and I knew it wasn't good. I had grown accustom to my parents increasing arguments, again, I knew they weren't good, they were the exact opposite, but like her illness I was getting accustom to it. Then one summer evening an argument sprung up about what we were going to have for dinner and my dad walked out. He had had enough. Men who leave their dying wives, with young children disgust me. I remember following my mother to the door as she slammed and locked it, with the click of the bolt I knew my life had changed forever.