She stands in front of me, with those wild blue eyes. Fierce and piercing, but also deep and sad.

“Why?” she asks. Her expression flickers as her eyes shift to the side and above my head, thinking about something in particular.

“Why did you do all of this to me?” she repeats, voice choking on a sob.

It is all I can do but stand there, watching as she falls apart. I made her strong, and she has done that as she was ordered to, but now she falls apart. She’s handled so much, everything I put on her, all with her head held high. But it’s too much, too much for any one person to bear.

“You take me from my home. From my parents.” She shakes her head and looks down.

“You take me from my brothers…. Do you remember,” she smiles at the memory,” when we’d climb the trees in the backyard, helping each other all the way to the top. We climbed onto the roof, and Mama yelled at us.” She chuckled slightly. “I blamed it on them, since they were older and responsible for me. But I loved it. How we’d climb into the roof, and huddle in the corner, where no one could see us. It was our place.” A tear slides down her cheek.

“Do you remember,” She pauses to attempt to suppress her pain.” Those nights when we’d sneak out our windows, climbing onto the tree just outside, scurrying up and onto the roof. We’d huddle close together with that special blanket. And when I was scared of the universe, and the world, they’d comfort me. They’d tell me that it would be okay, and that they would always be there to protect me.”

The fire in her eyes returns, as her sharp gaze flicks up to meet mine, drilling into my eyes.

“But you made them leave me. You forced us apart when you knew we needed each other. Why? Because it made me strong? Because it made me tough? I hate that.” Another tear slips out.

“You take me from my mind, and plant me in darkness, forcing me to live it in. I was alone. Nobody in the world loved me. Except for my siblings, but you wouldn’t let them be there.” She shook her head. “No.” She tilted her chin up slightly. “I wasn’t allowed to have anyone but myself, and even then, sometimes I didn’t have that.”

“And you take Michael from me. He was 4. 4 years old, and you take him. He will never. Breathe again. Because of you.” Her words drip with anger on the last word, piercing through the air like knives. “Do you remember, when we would stay at the school playground after all the other kids had gone home, and we would stay there for hours.” Tears ran freely down her face now, as she remembered all the things she would never have again. The things he would never have again.

“We would have swinging competitions, and race down the slides. We would climb on top of everything, so high up. We would pretend we could touch the clouds. I would always push him, and he would always yell to go higher. I could always tell he was smiling, just from his voice. He loved it. He’d beg for us to stay when we would have to go home for dinner. He’d stay all night if we could, just us.”

She looks at her shoes, sobbing. I’d never seen her like this.

“And then Ella.” Her voice broke, as she looked into the corner again. “The sweetest little girl you could ever imagine. She said she was friends with the Sun, and when she got warm it was because the Sun was hugging her. She would color pages and pages of pink, saying it represented her happiness and her love for the world. She was always smiling, and that. That was the prettiest thing in the world.”

She looks back to me, no longer angry, but breath trembling and eyes bleeding. “Why. Why did you do this to me?”