Running through this hazzy night has me thinking — is this how the last moment of my life feels?
Cold winter air slaps me in the face, and I let a tear fall down my cheek for the first time in two days, only to quickly hide it from two pairs of innocent eyes. They are tired, just like me, but constantly running on their little legs has taught them: if we don't run, we will die.
This is a harsh reality for children who have only been on this earth for six years, but the earlier they know, the better it will be for them.
In the distance, I see a swamp hidden behind bushes. Together, we run in that direction and hide there. I can hear the sounds of boots and metal near me. It keeps getting closer and closer. Then, it stops for a moment. Then I hear it going further and further. They are leaving.
But we don't leave our hiding place. I have to be sure.
After a few minutes, we emerge from the swamp, all covered in mud. But I can't be disturbed by this — we are alive. That is what I hope for. For now, at least.
I don't know what will happen tomorrow, or in the next hour.
God. How did I let this happen?
How did my life fall into this downward spiral?
I don't know where we will go from here, and the only directions she could give me before running away herself were to protect them — and that he is not who I thought he was.
Not who I thought.
I thought—
I never thought about him. Or at least, I tried not to.
Why would I?
These tiny hands holding mine are proof enough that he didn't think about me.
If only my heart would understand that and move on.
But here I am — protecting these little proofs of his betrayal from a danger unknown.