Fighting For Hope [Completed]

HOPE'S POV A kind of resentment entirely pollutes the air. The shouting reverberated like an echo, enhancing my mother’s venomous words. My parents were unaware of the child, viewing them from above. In that frozen second, a faint memory of the day before slithered into my mind. Like a snake, it coiled and selected the focus of my thoughts as its home. My mother, a petite figure with gentle black eyes and hair that touches her shoulders, informed me of a split between her and my father. I was brimming with great apprehension, knowing Dad will be gone soon.  Mother told me I would have a new father. He’s standing behind my parents, with an outfit that screamed expensive and a manacing face, observing their fight as if it was a movie. He had a sickly tug at the side of his lips that screamed appalling intentions. I’ve despised him from then. Dad had friendly and eternally cheerful features with eyes as blue as mine. He always told me that my eyes were a body of deep ocean, mesmerizing and captivating, though he had a similar pair. His hair was always styled in a slick manner, as dark as a night sky. However, he also told me that nothing would hurt him because he was tough. However, in the current moment, he looked so impossibly broken and fragmented, with hair as dishevelled as a messy bun. I could see the pain reflecting in his eyes. It was evident that Mother’s sharp words were resulting in a mental wound that was piercing into his heart. I always described my mom as stunning with her beaming smile and a white casual shirt, but now she seemed as if she was trying hard to appear murderous. She clasped on to something behind her back, hiding it from Father’s sight. She tightened her hold on the object while giving a side glance to her new partner. I stay rooted to the spot I stood even after I realized what she was clutching on. Everything seemed to go so rapidly from then on. My mom plunged the knife forward, but my dad was quick enough to move out of the way and thrust her hand away, causing the blade to fly towards my ‘new father’ in the living room. He barely even bat an eyelid when the knife flew close. Instead, he reached out and grabbed the handle with much precision, as if he was a trained professional. He narrowed his eyes at Mother, who was holding Dad back from bolting out of her grasp towards the door. Without delay of any kind, he held out the knife for her. In my confused state of mind, I convinced myself that they had no reason to do anything barbarous. She took it from his hands and contemplated for a moment. Remorse flashed in her gaze before she covered it up and forced the weapon down. Fortunately, my father had rolled out of the way in time. He swiftly got on his feet and moved towards the unopened door. Soon enough, he discovered that he had one more obstacle. The man I utterly detested stood between my father and his way out. I knew for sure that I would never want to trade my father for anyone else, especially that despicable man. He clenched his fists and landed a punch square in my father’s jaw. He did not end there. Right after that punch, a second blow came for my father’s abdomen. Although my father was a robust man, I wished he was more rigorous. He stumbled back, quickly recovering his composure. He reacted to his opponent’s fast punch by moving to the side, speedily holding on to his hand and elbowed his opponent right on the ribs. I prayed for his safety. One wrong move and he would be helpless with a physical stab wound. While my father focused on his opponent’s fists for any unexpected movements, his rival caught the side of his foot and caused him to be swept off his feet. A glint of triumph lit the man’s gaze as he began to utter remarks to disparage my father. He, who caused my father to be struggling on the solid ground, gave my mother, a former spectator throughout their fight, a brief nod. My mother was one who would always come home late at night and never acknowledged me or Dad unless she feels like it. To love our parents equally was a mundane line I relentlessly hark. Yet in my eyes, Father was the only one who cared. I do adore her, though, for she would always be my beautiful mother. But her next move was beyond anything I ever imagined would come from her. She let out a strangled cry, gripping the knife in her hands. In approximately three seconds, she launched towards my father while raising the sharp object. She then brought it down with force. I bit back a gasp when I heard my dad let out a painfully loud cry. I caught a glimpse of the blood, which splattered from somewhere around his stomach. It tainted the marble floor with a dark shade of red. Flinching, I looked away and spotted a somewhat hidden object with a red light flashing on the very top of it. A voice caused my attention to shift to the scene where I could previously only see Mom’s back. I was oblivious to what had happened until she moved out of the way. I felt as if someone had stolen all the light in my life. I was urging myself to stop watching the scene, move away, and call the police. I felt suffocated as I looked at my dad fighting the pain. Mom removed the knife, frantically throwing it to the side of the room and looking horrified at her trembling hands covered in crimson liquid. “I’ll call two of my guys to get rid of the body and evidence later on,” the man notified my mother. From then on, I remembered his voice by heart. They left the room, probably to take a breath outside. I hurried down the flight of stairs and dropped to my knees beside my father. My bright blue dress was stained with his blood. “Hope,” he managed to choke out, his voice a mere whisper. “Nothing happened, Dad just slipped.” He thought I’m too young to understand what happened. He was wrong. “I saw it all. Mom did this.” I held back a sob. “Why?” He covered my hands in his. I could feel the warmth surging up from my hands and calming me slightly. I will never forget how he held me or the look on his face when he glanced up at me. “Because she wants to, and I can’t change that.” He shook his head in a disapproving manner. “I wished that I didn’t trust her so much.” He forced a smile through the overwhelming pain while grabbing on to my hand. I could not stop myself from breaking down. My father blamed himself, although he knew that the fault did not belong to him. “Don’t trust anyone but yourself, Angel.” His eyes flickered to the ground. “Or, you will get hurt. Once you trust, you can’t go back.” “No,” I whispered. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me…” “Goodbye, my beautiful rose.” Tears pooled in my eyes as his heart thumped for the last time, and he slipped away into a sleep he will never awaken. As I studied his opened and lifeless eyes, my thoughts drifted to my mother and the man. They betrayed both my father and me, and I swore to parry with my vengeance.