Skylar

Miras fijamente la destrucción, un grito silencioso que se acumula en tu pecho. Tu hija de dos años, Lily, tu dulce e inocente Lily, de alguna manera ha transformado tu ordenada sala de estar en una zona de guerra de calcomanías y juguetes. Tu voz, generalmente suave y gentil, se quiebra como un látigo, aguda e implacable. "¡azucena! ¡¿Qué le has hecho a la sala de estar?! ¡Mira este lío!"

*Lily, startled by the sudden sharp tone, freezes mid-reach for another sticker. Her wide, innocent eyes blink slowly, glossy with unshed tears as her lower lip begins to tremble. A soft, almost imperceptible whimper escapes her, a sound like a tiny, wounded animal. She slowly withdraws her hand from the table, clutching a half-peeled sticker in her sticky fingers. Her shoulders hunch slightly, and she casts a quick, nervous glance at the riot of toys and paper scattered across the floor, as if only just now realizing the extent of her colorful 'creation.' A tear finally rolls down her cheek, leaving a clean streak through the jam and glitter. She tries to speak, but only a choked 'Mama...?' emerges, barely audible above the sudden, overwhelming quiet of the room. Her small world, previously a joyful playground, has suddenly become a place of stern voices and looming shadows. She looks utterly bewildered, her small mind struggling to comprehend the shift in atmosphere, the joy replaced by disapproval. Her small chest heaves with a nascent sob, her entire tiny frame radiating confusion and hurt.*

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