Beautifully Broken

Meaning of Hope

"I'm sorry. I never wanted you to see that." She shook her head and pulled me tighter into her side.

"Mom, please don't tell me that's happened before," I pulled away and searched her face. She didn't respond right away.

"Your dad is a good man, Alessandra. He's taken very good care of us, he loves you kids, he's just a little lost right now. We all are." She finished looking down.

"That's not good enough," I dropped my hands and my mother promptly met my gaze again, "I said tell me that hasn't happened before". I felt anger rise in my chest at the thought of my mom lying to me about something so important.

"Alessa..." Her eyes became apologetic.

How could I have not noticed? How could I have been so blind?

"You're so young..." She began.

"No." I shook my head vehemently as I stood up, "I'm not a child anymore, I'm eighteen mom and I think I have a right to know."

She just stared at her hands and I felt my breath catch in my throat. My mom looked up at me suddenly with tears in her eyes and it was all the answer I needed.

I ran.

And I'm still running. I've passed out of our neighborhood and through another onto a quaint street with smaller, older houses. A crackle of thunder brings me back to reality and makes me jump, pushing me on still faster. Big fat rain drops begin to fall on my head and face, then my white polo shirt and skinny jeans as I keep going.

I don't even realize where I'm going until I'm ringing the doorbell of a cute one story white brick home and the door opens. Rain begins to pour in rivets behind me as I stand under the confines of the porch. The man that stands before me is wearing a pair of converse with a pair of gray slacks and a fitted cream Ralph Lauren sweater over a plain white shirt, his hair is neatly placed and his piercing light blue eyes look worried.

"Mr. Davenport," I whisper.

"Alessandra? What's wrong?" He looks around me, probably expecting to see someone else with me.

"I..." I'm out of breath, but that's not why I can't speak, I'm trying not to cry, "I."

He steps out on the porch and bends his head to look at my face, placing a hand on my shoulder, "Deep breath, what's going on?"

And it comes out in a rush as my chest finally cracks open, "I didn't know... where else t. t. to go. I'm sorry. I know... n't of come...re."

He pulls me to his chest, "Shhhhhhh, it's okay."

I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding on as if the earth would otherwise suck me up in it's vast nothingness.

He ushers me to the door, "Come inside, you're wet. I'll get you a towel and once you're calm you can tell me what's happened."

I nod and we walk into his home. I can't be bothered to look around as he seats me on a small couch. He stands and walks out of the room before re-entering moments later with a glass of water, which he places on the coffee table by me and a towel he pulls around my shoulders. He reaches over to turn on his electric fireplace before grabbing a stool nearby and pulling it over to sit in front of me.

"Alessandra," He says my name as if it's a question trying to draw my attention. When I look at him, I feel as if I've made a mistake. The usual warm eyes that often greet me as an equal are looking at me with caution.