I stand in the middle of a field, my house a few hundred feet behind me, a angry thunderstorm booming above me. Rain like knives drop down and feel as if they cut my skin, but I take no notice. I just lift my gaze up to the sky, watchig the clouds.

“I hope you’re up there, because if not, I’m here for noth-“

BOOM!!

I start to talk, but thunder interrupts me. I chuckle, knowing that my child IS up there, letting me know with their sassy interruptions they always had when they were alive.

RUMBLE!

I chuckle once more, because my child is saying, ‘get on with it!’

“I-I miss you. More than you’ll ever know. I wish I hadn’t let you go to Stacy’s. Then you’ll never had been there when your dad was. I’m sorry, Annabelle.” I say, my gaze dropping to my feet, guilt rushing over me like a wave.

I collapse to the ground, crying. The salt of my tears and the sharp rain combine, soaking deep into my skin, imbedding pain in. The long wheat stems around me wave in the storm and poke my skin, but I take no notice. I curl into a ball, sobbing. I mentally lash myself, saying that it’s my fault, I deserved to die instead of Annabelle, shaming me for my choice.

The storm growls above me, like my daughter telling me to get up, to get safe, but this time I ignore her. I just lay there, my tears turning silent, curled up with the heavy blanket I left out.

“I’m sorry.”