Warning: This chapter has themes of domestic abuse. I try not to write anything more graphic than what's on the show.

......................................

Dear Diary,

Why am I doing this? I'm not a lovesick schoolgirl. I don't need to be writing in a diary.

That's exactly what I said when my social worker suggested it. I have enough people telling me what I should do or not do, so the last thing I want to do is write in a diary every day.

Then, of course, as if she was reading my mind, she said, "Carol, I'm not going to tell you what to do. But I am going to say this. There is evidence that writing in a journal every day helps children become more confident in expressing themselves, and little Sophia is so quiet. If she sees you writing, it will encourage her to do the same. That's all I'm saying."

So here I am. Sitting at a desk writing while Sophia fills out her workbook pages. She seems to like the peace and quiet here. She spends hours coloring and reading and playing dolls with the other girl down the hall.

But today she told me she misses her room at home and she asked when she can go back to school. She hasn't asked anything about her daddy, though, and I'm not sure what to think about that. Maybe it's for the best.

A large part of me wants nothing more than to leave and go back home and let Sophia get back to her life and put an end to all this uncertainty, but I can't do that. Not this time. I can't quit and give up and go crawling back home like last time.

I don't know what the future holds for us, but I do know there's no going back now. Not after I told the police what I told them. Not after everything that's happened.

Now the lawyers and judges and social workers are sorting out my life and I have to wait here until they say it's safe to go home or wherever else. It's so overwhelming that sometimes all I want to do is cry, but I'm trying to be brave for Sophia's sake. So I try to act like I know what I'm doing and that I know I'm doing the right thing.

Is that enough for one day? It's almost time for dinner so I'll say this counts for one day.

Yours Truly,

Carol Peletier

............................................................................................

Diary Day Two,

I guess I'm really doing this.

Today I remembered something else the social worker said. That the lawyer is going to ask me a lot of questions and that it helps to be prepared. It helps to write down my story.

Not because they don't believe me, but because it helps to get the details right and memories can change especially around emotional events. So I should write it all down while it's still fresh.

Set the record straight, for once in my life.

Here's the story of how I got here. If there's a particular starting point, this story starts about three weeks ago.

I woke up early, like usual, and got out of bed carefully so that I didn't wake Ed up. I made breakfast. Toast, scrambled eggs, and orange juice. Sophia overslept, so I had to pack up her book-bag for her and hurry her out the door.

Before she left, an extra piece of toast in hand, she finally looked up at me to say goodbye and she stopped short. Tears welled up in her blue eyes and her lip trembled.

She said uncertainly, "Mommy..."

I reassured her automatically, "Sophia, my love, everything is okay. I'm okay. Now hurry up or you'll miss the bus."

Sophia still looked troubled, but she nodded and ran out the door to catch the school bus.

Ed finally got up and ate breakfast while I busied myself tidying up the kitchen. He put on his boots and left without a word, letting the screen door slam behind him.

I slowly let out the breath that I'd been holding and all at once realized how tired I was. I dropped the dishtowel on the counter and went into the hall bathroom to splash water on my face.

When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I looked away immediately.

Don't get me wrong. It's not like I forgot what happened last night. I was fully aware of why Sophia was so tired this morning; Ed's yelling must have woken her up. She's such a light sleeper these days.

So I shouldn't have been surprised by what I saw. When it's bruises on my arms or my stomach, I can wear long sleeves and nobody notices a thing. I can pretend that I don't even notice it. But there's something jarring about see the deep purples and blues around my swollen eye.

That's why Sophia was upset when she looked at me.

It's not that I didn't remember being hit, or that I was pretending that it didn't happen. I felt it, the throbbing ache that had kept me awake most of the night. I just didn't realize it had turned so dark so fast.

I don't know how long I stood there, but that's what I remember most clearly about that day. Standing in front of the mirror, staring down at the patterns of water droplets in the sink, thinking those thoughts again and again. Thinking that I should put some concealer on and get started on the day's chores.

When I finally moved from that spot, my heartbeat was throbbing in my ears and I felt so dizzy that I must have gone to lie down on the couch.

At least that's what I assume I did because the next thing I remember was waking up to someone shaking me.

"Mommy! Wake up!" Sophia was yelling, tears streaming down her face, "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Soph, what's wrong?" I asked groggily.

My head felt big with pain and everything sounded louder than normal. I sat up and Sophia threw her arms around me, sobbing.

"Mommy," she whimpered, "You weren't waking up! I didn't know what to do!"

I patted her back and said, "I'm okay, baby. I was only sleeping. I'm okay, see? You don't have to worry."

Eventually I got her to calm down but I was still shaken and I think she could sense that. If Sophia was home from school already, that meant it was late afternoon and I slept the whole day without realizing it.

"Go unpack your book-bag and I'll fix you a snack, okay?" I tried, but Sophia was reluctant to let go of me.

I should have made her go to her room but instead I turned on the TV and we stayed on the couch together.

We were still there when Ed came home. He was drunk and when he realized that dinner wasn't ready he started yelling. Never mind the fact that it was too early for dinner and he had obviously come home from the bar, not work. It would hardly have helped to point that out.

In the middle of everything, Sophia did something unexpected. She stood up and, in a voice louder than any I'd ever heard her use, shouted, "STOP IT!"

Ed blinked, momentarily surprised. Before he could do anything, I quickly ordered her to go to her room. Anger flashed in my husband's eyes and I took a step in front of Sophia, who bolted from the room. I heard her sneakers pound down the hall and the slam of the screen door before Ed slapped me and called me useless.

At this point I should have been angry but I only felt tired. I'd been right there before, countless times. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I went into the kitchen to fix Ed a sandwich and brought it to him in front of the TV, now tuned to a baseball game. I knew better than to stay in the room with him, so I went to start the laundry.

Later, it was starting to get dark and I felt dizzy again. I hadn't eaten all day. I went to the kitchen door and called for Sophia to come inside for dinner. She has a playhouse in the back yard and she'll spend hours out there if I let her.

She didn't answer. I glanced back into the living room and Ed's eyes narrowed, daring me to raise my voice again. I went outside and called again. I checked the small yard, poking my head into the playhouse, and finally circling the house to make sure she wasn't out front.

"Sophia!" I called again, louder, facing the woods behind our house.

I used to love looking out the kitchen window and seeing the trees, knowing that the forest stretched out, calm and peaceful. But that day the forest began to look dark and threatening.

I think that's enough for today.

C.P.

..............................................................................

Diary Day Three,

I don't really want to think about what happened that night. I remember what happened but it already doesn't feel like it really happened to me. Like it's all somebody else's slideshow.

But I started this story and I think I'd better finish it.

It was getting late, my head was pounding and I hadn't eaten anything all day. And Sophia was missing. She wasn't in the yard and she wasn't in the house. When I called the neighbors they hadn't seen her either.

Eventually Ed got fed up with my running around and when I suggested that we call the police, he decided that we would drive around the neighborhood and look for her instead.

"There's no reason to panic, Carol," he said dismissively.

He always took pride in proving me wrong. Sophia did like to play at the park down the street, but she had never walked there by herself. Still, Ed drove the old pick-up around the block and I stared out the passenger window.

Soon it was dark and there was no sign of our daughter. Ed got tired of indulging me and, deciding that Sophia was just playing a prank or something else childish and she would come back on her own, headed back home. I knew in my heart that he was wrong but I didn't say anything.

When we got back Ed grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat back down in front of the TV. He wasn't worried at all and he made it clear that I was being irrational.

Again I held my tongue. I left him and walked into the kitchen. I picked up the phone. If he wasn't going to do something, then I had to.

"Carol! Bring me another beer!" he called from the other room.

I held the phone in front of me. I looked at the door and prayed that Sophia would walk through it right then and everything would be okay.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Ed loomed in the doorway.

I took a deep breath.

"I'm calling the police. Sophia is missing and..." I said, my voice coming out quieter than I intended.

"That girl is fine. Stop your worrying," he ordered, frowning.

"How do you know? Where is she?" I pleaded, feeling helpless.

"She'll be back," Ed grunted, taking a step closer to me, "Now put that down."

That was the moment where I could have backed down like I usually did, but this time there was a new desperation building in my chest.

"Not if she's lost! She ran into the woods and got lost! She's out there alone," I said, looking my husband in the eye, searching for some piece of understanding.

"Give that to me!" Ed yelled, he face turning red with anger, and lunged at me.

I jumped out of the way, knocking over a chair. I knew what was coming so I did the only thing I could think of to do. I ran.

I ran down the hallway and through the bedroom and into the attached bathroom, the only room in the house with a working lock. Two seconds after I slammed the door and clicked the lock into place, Ed crashed into the door.

"What the hell are you thinking?! Get out here!" he yelled, pounding his fists on the door, "Get out here now!"

I was shaking. It was hard to focus with all the noise. I didn't say anything which only seemed to make him angrier.

"If you're not out here in five seconds, damn it, I'm going to burn this house down!" Ed shouted, punching the door one more time for emphasis, making me flinch.

Then suddenly it was quiet and I realized I still had the phone in my hand. I heard Ed's heavy footsteps moving through the house.

I dialed the numbers 9-1-1 and hit Send.

Ed's footsteps were in the bedroom again.

"Hello, this is 9-1-1. Please state your emergency," a voice said.

"This is your last chance!" Ed yelled.

"Please help me!" I said into the phone.

"I'm gonna count to five. You hear me, woman? This is your last chance!"

"My daughter is missing," I told the 911 operator.

"I'm not joking around! ONE!"

Then I heard the distinctive click-click of Ed's shotgun and I realized he wasn't going to burn the house down after all.

"My daughter is only ten and she's missing," I said breathlessly, "and my husband is going to kill me!"

"TWO!"

"Officers are on the way, ma'am. There's a patrol in your neighborhood. They'll be there soon. Can you get somewhere safe?"

"THREE!"

"I don't know," I cried, "He has a gun."

"FOUR!"

The operator said something else but I didn't hear it. I looked around, praying for an escape. There was a window but it was too heavy for me to open very far.

"FIVE! That's it, Carol! That's it!"

I threw myself into the bathtub, trying to make myself as small as possible.

KA-BAM!!!!

The splintering of the door and the shotgun shell exploding in the tiny bathroom was the loudest sound I've ever heard. My ears were ringing so loudly that it took me a few minutes to realize that I was also hearing sirens.

The next thing I remember was hearing a commotion in the bedroom and then someone kicking in what remained of the door.

"Ma'am, I'm with the Sherriff's Department. I'm here to help," the man said.

I reached out my hand and he helped me climb out of the bathtub.

"Are you hurt?" he asked urgently.

I took in the destruction around me, feeling numb, and shook my head 'no'. He must not have been convinced because he spoke into his radio, asking for an ambulance.

The officer told me to stay put and went back into the bedroom, but I had to see what was going on.

Ed was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on his head, eyes cast down in shame. The shotgun was on the floor, loose shells scattered on the carpet. A second officer was standing over Ed. He was unhooking a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

I stopped in the doorway, leaning against the wall for support. The second officer looked up and saw a terrified woman with a black eye. Ed looked up and saw the reason for his humiliation.

Ed's eyes narrowed with a bitter hatred. He slung at the officer, but he was drunk and clumsy. The man easily dodged the blow and in seconds he had Ed on the ground. He punched Ed in the face, hard.

"Do not ever lay hands on your wife again," he said in a low, fierce voice.

Ed struggled and the officer punched him again and again. He didn't stop, even after Ed had clearly given up. My knees felt weak and I sank to the floor, one hand over my mouth to stop from screaming.

"Shane!" the officer who found me yelled, trying to restrain his partner, "Shane! That's enough!"

Finally he relented. The two officers shared a brief but heated glare.

The rest of the night is mostly a blur but what happened was this. Ed was taken away in handcuffs. An EMT checked me over and, saying that I probably had a severe concussion, insisted that I spend the night in the hospital. That's where I told Officer Rick Grimes what had happened that afternoon and why I believed my daughter was lost in the woods.

After asking me what felt like a hundred questions and making several calls on his radio, he put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye.

"I'm going to find your daughter, Carol," he said, "I promise."

I didn't want to fall asleep, but I did. And when I woke up the next morning, a massive police search was underway.

I could probably write a novel about everything that happened next. Well, maybe a short story or something like that.

C.P.