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❝That horrible day, she bid me goodbye was the day I died inside. Confusion and emptiness were the only things that resided in my heart, which she once used to warm. She became a mystery, one that intruiged me and at the same time made me hate...
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10 years later...
"Leslie!"
A child's screech echoed in the house, provoking Isabella to push her glasses upwards as she heard hustled footsteps approach her.
"Grandma!" a six year old boy launched himself at the elderly woman, his (h/c) tresses bouncing up and down as he begged her to save him, his olive green eyes pleading her plunged with despair.
"Sweetie, calm down," she hushed the young boy, holding his shoulders firmly.
"Grandma! Mom is making me drink milk!" he whined, tugging on her dress with his tiny fists, on the verge of throwing a whole tantrum about how milk stunk, not like he already wasn't.
Isabella scooped the boy in her arms, plopping him on her lap as she tied his tangled shoe laces, "My dear, milk will make you stronger. Don't you want to be a strong man?"
He puckered his lips, his nose scrunching up. It reminded Isabella of his mother who also scrunched up her nose when she detested something. It seemed that the young boy had taken after his mother.
"B-But—"
"Leslie, come back!" a feminine voice ordered authoratively, causing the little boy to hide behind his grandmother.
"Y/n, darling, take it easy," Isabella laughed at how the woman surprisingly wasn't really good with kids and her temper.
A woman clad in a formal black jumpsuit with a boot cut trotted in, a nine month old baby girl in her arms.
"Mama, I'll get late," the thirty-one year old lady complained, rocking the child in her arms.
The little girl sobbed into her mother's shoulder, hiccuping at intervals. She had vibrant (e/c) eyes, brimmed with tears. Her unruly short jet black hair fell over her face, tickling the woman's neck.
"Mhm, I know, dear. I'll take care of Sally, you see Leslie off, alright?" Isabella warmly smiled, holding Leslie under his arms and setting him down.
Y/n handed the young girl over to her grandmother, squatting down in front of Leslie after, combing his hair with her hands, "God, look at your hair."
"Mom! I don't want to drink milk!" he tugged on her jumpsuit, jutting out his bottom lip.
Y/n softly groaned under her breath, "Sweetheart, it's just a glass. I'm sure you can do that, can't you?"
"But what if I throw up in the bus!?" he worriedly yelled, fisting the fabric tightly in his palms.
Heaving a sigh, she arched a brow, "Then, will you drink it before you go to sleep?"
His eyes instantly lit up, his head nodding vigorously, "Yes, Mom!"
