Tell me what exactly is going on, what has happened.
A terrified cry wells up in my heart. My instinct is to scream aloud, to vocalize the dread within me, to release the heavy sense of terror. But no sound escapes my slightly parted lips. I simply stand there, transfixed, watching as my father turns to enter the room he never allows me into.
"It's futile to think anymore, so you better take Roland to the church for refuge."
"Absolutely, take care of yourself-- you really think I would just nod and agree before turning and leaving?"
A hint of playful defiance flashes across her face, but it quickly morphs to a resolute smile, even as her husband gapes in stunned realization.
Iris crouches down, brushing Roland's face which glistens with adolescent anxiety. She presses her lips onto his soft, warm forehead, sharing a connection as soothing and familiar as their bedtime kisses.
