[ WP ] `` Ana , until high school , had been an obedient child ''

Mrs. Volkovska sat upon the plush velvet cushions of the sofa in the dimly-lit visitor's sitting room. 
 
 The room was lit as such because she did n't want anyone to see her tears. Perusing through the glossy-paged album, her teary eyes flickered about the page, as restless as her fluttering heart. The Russian woman could n't stop the saline-imbued water droplets coursing down her face as she flipped through the pages, seeing but not seeing the pictures: Anastasia as a newborn, her face a brilliant red and scrunched up as the photo had been taken mid-cry; Ana as a toddler, already a full head of long, luscious brown hair cascading down her back, a brilliant smile on her slender face; Ana as a young girl, nearing puberty yet remaining as small in height as she always had been; Ana as a young woman, graduating from high school, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. Mrs. Volkovska's eyes focused upon that picture, staring blankly at her daughter's face. 
 
 That mischievous smile playing on Ana's lips, she knew that smile well. She had n't seen it until later in Ana's years, but she'd gotten to recognize it. It had n't started until Ana had met *that* boy. The boy that had taken her daughter away from her, the child that had wrested control and faith of her daughter from her to solely him. That boy who had shown her daughter the world, and all that was in it. 
 
 That boy who had stolen her daughter's *innocence*. 
 
 Mrs. Volkovska could barely keep her rage at bay -- it was not a time to feel anger, it was a time to grieve. She reminded herself that, breathing deeply, as she slowly clouded the boy's appearance from her mind. For now, at least. 
 
 In her anger, she had stamped the floor beneath her, ignoring the hollow ring reverberating from the movement. She was too absorbed in her memories of her beautiful daughter to pay attention to her physical actions. 
 
 Ana, until high school, had been an obedient child. That much, no one could dispute. It had been during high school that she had become slightly more rebellious; staying out late, coming home a mess, ignorant to her parents' displeasure and concern, belligerent in response to their beseeching her to act properly. It was n't long before Mrs. Volkovska found out that Ana had been seeing a boy. 
 
 He was Polish, Ana had told her when she confronted her. `` But he's a good boy, mother! He loves me and cares for me and puts up with me and actually *gives a damn*!'' 
 
 `` We give a damn, Ana! We, your parents, give a damn! We give a damn about you, we give a damn about your life and well being, and we give a damn about how you're being influenced by that boy to act up and act out!'' 
 
 Ana refused to listen. She could n't see past her rose-coloured glasses, staring at her boyfriend like the dewey-eyed school girl she was. Mrs. Volkovska's fears of influence in Ana's life became more and more pronounced, and ultimately justified when the police showed up at her door. 
 
 Mrs. Volkovska would never forget that day. It had been 3 AM in the morning. She had been sitting in a rocking chair, in the visitor's sitting room that gave her a view of the corridor Ana would have to walk through once she got in the door. In her hands was a twelve-gauge shotgun. Ana's mother meant business. 
 
 The doorbell rang, and this immediately put Mrs. Volkovska on edge -- where were Ana's keys? Why did n't she use them? Did she lose them? She stood up, her lavender bathrobe unfurling without a sound, as she strode to the door, shotgun in hand. Unlocking the door in a swift manner, she flung it open, shotgun poised directly at Ana's face. 
 
... Except it was n't Ana. It was a police officer, and he wore a look of utter surprise, not to mention a tad terrified. Mrs. Volkovska sighed, lowering her weapon, annoyed it was n't her daughter. It was another second before she realized the implications of having the police at her door. 
 
 *'' Where is she? `` * 
 
 `` The hospital, ma'am. I'm assuming you're her mother, Mrs. Ursa Volkovska?'' 
 
 *'' What happened to my daughter?! `` * 
 
 The police officer seemed to be perspiring rather heavily now. `` Calm down, Ursa. Your daughter is fine. She was in a car crash, with the Kaczmarek fellow'' -- Mrs. Volkovska's eyes narrowed; that was the last name of her boyfriend -- `` but they're both in no immediate danger. Well, except...'' 
 
 `` Except..?'' 
 
 The police officer's gaze shifted, avoiding hers. He took a step back, inhaling before exhaling and preparing himself for the reaction he knew he would receive. And then he told her. 
 
 Mrs. Volkovska had heard what the officer said, but it did n't process for a few seconds as she stared blankly at the officer. And then she had collapsed. 
 
 Her nose wrinkled at the memories of that night, her tears threatening to spill again. She closed the photo album, rising to her feet and glancing towards the room behind her. Gingerly, softly, she trod across the soft plush carpet, opening the door with a quiet click. Wiping her still glistening eyes with the back of her hand, she entered the room. 
 
 The steady beep of a monitor was the first thing she heard. The first thing she saw was her daughter laying in the bed, blank eyes facing the ceiling, unresponsive in her vegetative state. Her eyes, as brown as her mother's, were staring without focus, unblinking. A machine above her face puffed her with a mist every few seconds, keeping her eyes moisturized. Mrs. Volkovska could n't bear to close her daughter's eyelids. 
 
 If she did, she'd fear that her daughter was actually dead. 
 
 This was the boy's fault. He had been driving. They had both been drinking. Ana, her sweet precious Anastasia, would never have acted like this if she had never met him. The boy had wrested control of Ana from her, and then he had the gall to not even be able to protect her daughter with all of his heart. 
 
 Mrs. Volkovska stared at her daughter in silence for a few minutes more. Her eyes were as unfocused as Ana's were, but even then, she could still see clearly the thing that saddened her the most. 
 
 On Anastasia's face, the beginnings of a small, mischievous grin were observable. The small, mischievous smile that Ana had gained after she met the Kaczmarek boy. 
 
 She ripped her eyes away from her daughter's immobile form, instead closing the door behind her as she exited the room. Mrs. Volkovska strode towards the kitchen, fetching a large bottle of bourbon. As she poured herself a glass, she took a sip, before rethinking it and deciding she did n't need it, she threw the glass across the room, shards exploding everywhere upon impact. A few managed to ricochet back and pierce Mrs. Volkovska, peppering her face with tiny glass fragments. She could feel the blood coming, but she did n't care. Perhaps she felt a sense of numbness because of the liquor she had just ingested. 
 
 Stalking across the house to the visitor's sitting room, she fetched the large wooden box from the hidden compartment beneath the floor, lifting up the trap door she had personally crafted in the event a boy ever hurt her daughter. Slamming the door back into place, and kicking the carpet over it once more, Ursa Volkovska withdrew the shotgun from the package and walked gracefully to the door, car keys jiggling in her pocket as she left her home. She felt oddly detached, as though a cold-blooded calm had come over her. 
 
 Perhaps the numbness was n't the product of the bourbon, after all.
