Typical Sunday afternoon, the sun peeking through the blinds, blinding me as I continue to wash dishes. In the other room, I hear my daughter, Caroline, mumbling to herself. Probably playing with her dolls. I resume, then I hear a name. “Tommy!” Caroline cries out. I drop the mug in my hand and speed to the other room. Upon arriving, I see caroline sitting on her bed, drawing. “Honey,” I say, “what’s wrong?” She points to the closet door, “Tommy isnt playing nice.” “Who’s Tommy?” I ask. “My best friend, Mommy” I look at Caroline, then glance over at the closet door. Do I open it? I think to myself. Curiosity got the best of me, I give in and walk up to the door. I observe the door. The faint trace of blue paint near the handle. The My Little Pony stickers scattered all over it. I place my hand on the handle. I slowly turn and finally… nothing. The closet is empty. It’s just a little imaginary friend, silly girl. “Well, tell Tommy if he doesnt play nice, Mommy is going to put him on time-out!” Caroline nods her head silently and goes back to drawing. I go back to the kitchen and finish what I had begun.
I set the plates on the table, making sure they are perfectly aligned with the utensils and place mat. I bring out the dishes, my specialty rotisserie chicken, greens, and golden smothered potatoes. The delectable scent was just enough to wake Caroline from her slumber. She waddles into the kitchen with her nostrils wide. I walk her to her to her seat and push it in. I sit at mine. “Mommy,” Caroline says, “wheres Tommy’s plate?” “Honey, I dont think Tommy is very hungry right now.” “But he asked me to bring him leftovers, especially if its chicken!” She yells. Why is she acting so erratically? “Fine.” I get a plate, add small portions of each food and make my way to Caroline’s room. The room is calm. I walk up to the closet. I begin to slowly turn the handle. Suddenly, a big figure crashes out the door, knocking me over. “Caroline!” I scream. I carefully get myself back up, I run into the kitchen and see the figure, which I can now presume is a male, mid 30s, tall, greasy, shaggy hair with some bald spots. I stare in disgust as he sits to the seat next to Caroline. He places his hand on hers. What the fuck is going on. “Dont touch my daughter!” I exclaim. He pulls out a knife and presses it against her neck. “We’re just playing nice.” Tommy snickers. He gives me the most spine chilling grin before reaching for a drumstick off Caroline’s plate. I reach for my phone in my back pocket. “PUT THAT BACK!” he screeches. I raise my hands in the air and begin to tear up. “Sit down,” Tommy says, “enjoy your meal.” I stare at my plate and remain silent while Caroline and Tommy continue eating their food together. “What do you want.” I say quietly. “I just want all of us to be friends.” He smiles at me. I cringe. “Just give him a chance mommy, I promise he’ll be nice.” And thats how I met my husband of 12 years.