The room was almost completely dark now. The vanilla candle that had flickered behind Carly had burned itself out. Carly monotonously rocked back and forth in her overstuffed brown La-Z-Boy recliner. The television was on only a few feet in front of her, but the images had turned to snowing fuzz over an hour ago. The chasing white and black on the screen threw eerie shadows that danced across the room. The grandfather clock melodiously rang three long strokes, but Carly didn’t hear their mournful song. She was listening to its echo deep within her soul.

There was a stirring from the figure on the couch. Brooke’s small, angelic face peered sleepily from the blanket that was draped over her body. She sat up and rubbed the sleepers from her big blue eyes.

“Mommy, are you still awake?” Brooke asked as she discarded the blanket and stood beside the rocking figure, her small hand resting on the arm of her mother. Her petite black dress was wrinkled, and her hair, which had so meticulously been fixed by her grandmother only hours before, had become matted and tangled. She stared into a pair of eyes that previously mirrored her own. Now that resemblance had faded. The sparkle in Carly’s eyes had disappeared, and a vacancy had taken its place. Brooke gently tapped her mother’s shoulder, and Carly finally emerged from her trance and acknowledged her daughter’s presence.

“Honey, what’s wrong? Couldn’t you sleep? Come here, Darling,” Carly said, as she pulled the six-year-old on her lap and continued to rock back and forth, back and forth, as she stroked Brooke’s hair.

“Mommy, are you okay?”

“Sure I am, Honey! Don’t worry about me. Just close your eyes and rest now.” Carly pressed her damp cheek against the soft flesh of her daughter’s. The scent of flowers filled Carly’s nose, and she was reminded of the unopened cards sitting on the kitchen table among the various flower arrangements that had been arriving throughout the last few days. Her once rosy complexion had drained, leaving her pale and empty of all color. Bags had formed under her eyes, and black streaks, remnants from her mascara, had trickled down her cheeks and dried there. Her age had betrayed her and her twenty-nine years began to look like fifty.

Carly’s thoughts drifted once again. She had overheard her mother and father talking last night, when they had thought she was asleep. She wanted to scream at them, “Of course I am taking it hard! Damn it! How could you expect anything less?” She had repressed that spontaneous urge because she knew that their motivation was sincere concern. But, they had been right. Carly recognized that all life and emotion had slowly been deserting her. She no longer recognized herself, and only felt comfort in the arms of darkness. She gazed past the television, still buzzing, and looked into the dark of the night. A few stars shone dimly, but they too, seemed to have lost their sparkle.

Carly shifted her focus back to the weight in her arms. Brooke’s body had begun to relax and grow limp. Carly slowly and carefully reached over and pulled the blanket from the couch and drew it over Brooke and herself. She focused everything that was left inside her on the precious bundle that was now placed in her aching arms alone. Tomorrow was going to come no matter how much she resisted. She would have to get through it, and the next day, and every day after that. The one thing she knew was that she had to keep going for her precious Brooke. With these thoughts echoing in her mind, Carly continued to rock, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.