Smile!

Beep. Beep. Beep.

6:00AM

She slowly sits upright, adjusting her disheveled pajamas and smiling at the clock. Quietly, she climbs out of bed, careful to flatten out the linen and blankets behind her. She then slips on her rose fuzzy slippers and heads to the bathroom, careful to not wake the sleeping man beside her.

After turning on the shower, she quickly undressed and observed herself in the mirror. She traced her fingers over the hip bones that slightly jut out before moving them up to her waist that was the smallest she’d ever seen it. Her eyes trailed up to her face, a perfect pearly white smile contrasting the sunken look under her eyes that her husband always teased her for, saying she looked like the raccoon she had tried to pick up on their first picnic date. 

She grabbed her toothbrush from the double holder they picked out together the first day they moved into this house, a celebration of togetherness, despite the perfectly good llama-shaped holder she had from her childhood home. Counting the seconds as she brushed her teeth was something she hadn’t left behind, and when she reached 120, she rinsed and turned to the shower that now had steam billowing out the gaps in the glass door.

The scalding hot water kept her mind sharp and focused on the burning sensation corroding her skin. Occasionally the redness would turn to hives, but she never minded it enough to stop her habits.

Her fluffy baby pink robe wrapped tightly around her after her shower, the cozy sensation muting the pain to a minor sting. She stepped back into their shared room, glancing back at the clock.

6:10AM

Right on time. Her smile ticked up further at that, and she headed downstairs. Stepping over the third step to avoid the echoing creaking sound, she stepped onto the tile below and flipped on the lights. She headed to the coffee machine, making enough for three cups; she only enjoyed one cup a day herself.

As it brewed, she opened the front door, allowing the golden light to warm her reddened cheeks once more. She waved at the paperboy making his daily rounds, before grabbing the stack of envelopes and newspapers waiting.

She carefully turned the handle as she shut the door, so the only sound ricocheting throughout the house was the soft click of the lock.

Ding! The coffee machine beeped just as she set the papers on the countertop. She grabbed their two mugs and poured the drinks, putting the pot with the remainder back into the machine. Two cups of sugar, one packet of creamer, and 12 stirs per cup later, she sat down with the mail and began sorting through it.

PTA Spring Festival Collection, House Eviction Notice, Toys R Us Catalog, she tore the second paper and began flipping through the catalog, admiring each new item they advertised, somehow in bolder and more colorful lettering each time. Her fingers traced the letters on the warmed mug, ‘World’s Best Mom’. She circled a new swing set in a pink pen with a giddy sigh. She loved to see the excitement as they clambered all over her, singing her praises and covering her with kisses for each new toy.

The collection envelope looked identical to when she sent it, and this time, her sigh was mockingly exasperated despite the grin on her face as she grabbed another envelope and slipped in $100. She knew the PTA moms could be greedy, but she had been so sure the first $500 would’ve appeased them. She supposed they knew about the terrible teacher’s wages, but they didn’t have to see the eye-roll her husband gave her every time she sucked up to the other moms with his hard earned money.

Licking the envelope to seal it stung from her coffee burnt tongue, but she welcomed the sensation as it came with a crisp fold and tight seal. Her eyes wandered to the microwave.

6:45AM

The tiny print read, and she immediately stood up, the corners of her lips stretching further. She turned the stove on, the gentle tick, tick, tick, sound scratching every itch her brain asked for before the gas lit up. She grabbed her apron that was tied upon their pantry door, tying it tightly around her waist and adjusting the fabric so the word Wifey sprawled legibly across her chest. Her husband always got a good laugh out of it, since it was the first gift she ever received from her preteen sister in law who claimed the style was in, despite how ridiculous she felt in it she could never get rid of it.

After standing on her tip-toes to reach the top shelf with the flour, she then headed to the fridge for eggs and milk. She softly hummed the tune of ‘Baby Shark’ as she turned the ingredients into their favorite pancake mix. She took a mental note of the sugar jar being nearly empty. Setting a griddle onto the stove top, she poured a generous amount of batter before adding a smiley-face with chocolate chips, a trick that made her kids giggle every time.

She grabbed four plates and set them on the kitchen table, her husband’s across from her and her kids on either side, smoothing out the red gingham fabric in their wake. One after another, the pancakes piled up on each plate, and as the batter ran low she grabbed her husband’s cup and stuck it back in the microwave, anticipating his disgruntled face at taking a first cold sip. She paused the clock a second before it beeped, keeping the peace. After setting his cup down beside his plate, she cleared the final second on the microwave and looked at the time.

7:15AM

She couldn’t help the excited giggle that escaped her lips. They’d be down any minute, ready to enjoy family breakfast before the three of them headed off to school. The house remained silent, and she realized they must have overslept. Waking the kids up was a task designated to her husband, so she decided to make herself useful in the meantime by grabbing the sandwiches she had left in the fridge last night and sticking them in their respective lunchboxes. She grabbed the sticky notes that sat beside the organized mail pile, and carefully wrote out notes for each kid, reminding them of her love and pride in each.

She put the lunchboxes in their respective backpacks, and checked that every folder and completed homework assignment was inside. At the bottom of her son's backpack, she found a crumpled up piece of paper that she hadn’t seen before. She quickly unraveled it to see a math test, with red X’s all over it. 

Making a mental note to remind her husband to go over the two digit addition with him once more, she placed the paper back into his folder neatly. Her daughter’s bag was littered with papers, despite the folder sitting inside. She began straightening each one out, and sorting them carefully, smiling at the little drawings that littered the corners of each paper. She glanced back at the clock.

8:00AM

School starts in 15 minutes, and none of them had come down yet. She hurried up the staircase, and back into her bedroom. The linen on her side remained perfectly smooth, but she rushed to her husband’s side, gently poking the mound of blankets.

“Pierce?” She poked a little harder. “Dear, you’re going to be late for work.” There was no response. She ripped the blanket off the bed entirely, and empty, wrinkled, linen stared back at her. A bloodcurdling scream escaped her throat, as she grasped the sheets. “Piece?”

She turned around frantically, eyes bloodshot and wild. She raced out of the room and to her kids, immediately rushing to her son’s bedside and throwing his blanket on the floor. It was equally empty, and another devastated sob left her lips. She stumbled to the final bed, her daughters, and pulled the last blanket off as she crumpled to her knees. Her chest heaved with sobs of subsuming despondency and rage as she knocked picture frames and clocks off the nightstand and tore the sheets off entirely, ripping the expensive fabric with perfectly manicured nails. 

Her screams echoed throughout the large, empty house, but the walls seemed to be closing in on her despite it. The muted sound of a door being kicked down registered through the bubbling in her ears, but she couldn’t care to check who it was. She held torn scraps of wet linen in her hands, screams unceasing despite the burn in her throat. It seemed the burning helped these days, anyway.

The world around her blurred as men rushed in, grabbing her and loading her onto a stretcher. She didn’t put up a fight, allowing her limp body to be taken but continuing to grip the fabric as if they’d rip it from her bloodied hands. She only then registered the blood, damage caused by the puncturing of her nails on her own skin or the glass that had flown from the smashed picture. She felt no pain, despite the blood pouring down her arms. 

“-Since Pierce and the kids have been gone.”

She bolted upright at the mention of the names, finally tuning into the world around her. “Gone? What do you mean gone? Where did they go? What did you do with them?” She growled the last word, trying to reach for the nearest man before realizing her arms were tied down along with the bandages.

“Did no one tell her what happened?” One of the men stared at the other in horror.

“We have, many times. It’s been years, and yet she still does this every time. They take her into the psych ward, she seems better, she gets out, buys new sheets, and starts over.”

“Where is my family?” She shrieked.

He sighed. “The anesthesia should be kicking in any second, she’ll be out until she’s back in inpatient.”

“Tell me you cruel-”

“Your kids had headed to the front office to get their lunches from you. You wanted to surprise them.” The officer sounded bored as he stared at the hideous grin still plastered across her face. As the world started getting fuzzy, she zeroed in on his words. “Your husband stopped following protocol to find and protect them, but the shooter found them all first.”