Becoming A Queen

Life in London

7 Years Later

"Mommy, where's my jumper?" Justice screams at the top of her lungs.

"Have you checked the laundry?" I scream back.

I hear her footsteps travel to the laundry room and the small giggle, "Found it!"

I roll my eyes as I finish packing her lunch. She insisted on having the Spider-Man lunch box and who was I to say no?

She runs into the kitchen and I adjust her school uniform. We both agree this red and black outfit was awful. "Teeth brushed, hair combed, fresh panties, did you get enough sleep?"

She nods, "Running low on tooth paste, I'd like a ponytail today, I've got the rainbow undies and I slept good."

She hands me the brush and I quickly pull her hair back. Doing this reminds me of my sisters, and Jamie's long hair. I wonder what they look like now, I wonder if Jamie still has his long hair.

"Is Uncle Gabriel still at the club getting the pretty girls?"

"Well," I laugh, "they aren't always pretty and he's probably getting a coffee by now to help his hangover."

"Because he drinks lots of the alcohol to make him stupid."

"Which doesn't help his natural stupid."

She laughs as I tighten her ponytail.

I've made it a point to not keep things a secret from my daughter. She's five, rather young but I don't see the point in sugar coating life. "Remember, no more fighting."

"They start it," she crosses her arms and gets that fierce look in her blue eyes. Sometimes I think I took home the wrong baby as she is way too gorgeous to have come from me. But I see me in the finer details of her, she has my eyebrows, the smooth curve of my neck. But her more striking features are her startling blue eyes, her mane of dark brown hair. Then they lucky thing just had to get the most insane eyelashes, which I'm sure came from Kayla's side of the gene pool.

"Then take the high road."

She scoffs, "And let them think they can walk all over me?"

Then there's that attitude. That exact attitude that comes so naturally to her. She's so stubborn and righteous. "Okay, then talk to them?"

"Yes, but when they don't listen, you outta knock the words into them. If your hands don't work then a dictionary would." She grins.

I match it. Then there's that killer instinct, the violence and hitting with solve all my problems outlook that she gets from me. But she's more smart about it than me, she's creative and innovative, much more of a thinker and planner. She's calculative as hell too, she plans her moves for preschool domination. "Where did you come from?"

"Well, according to you, not a stork. Ronald's parents lie to him like that, but not you mommy, you tell me I have to be prepared." She grabs a yogurt from the fridge and pours granola in it.

"You're so smart and well spoken." I say, playing with her hair. My daughter picked up the local accent, she doesn't have that American voice like Gabriel and I.

"Mommy, what do I have to be prepared for?" She licks her spoon, seemingly innocent. She's playing her child card, the one where she thinks she can act like a kid and pretend to be clueless when in reality she's already three steps ahead.

"Life, sweetie. Its not pretty. There are bad people who want to hurt you."

"Like the men we run from,"