She lost sanity, each time he touched her

The look on her face. Anger was not lonely there, . . . with it, stood understanding.
She didnt like my words, but she understood. Like a dog that barks to protect home, you hate the noise though you know what its for.

The look on her face. Then she said it again.

"Yes, I know he is my father. But I wish, she'd divorce him"

It all sounded strange to me. Sounded like a bittersweet feeling, without the sweet.
What would make a child want her parents parted?

She went on,
", though it would mean I would not have been born, I wish she had not married him."
And I almost responded to remind her that she would not have existed, but she didnt seem to mind.
She was a child. She spoke like a child.
I knew this. I felt the need to guide her thoughts. Help her understand; it doesnt matter what her position should be.
She should advocate and yearn for the unity of her parents, regardless how much of a bad husband he was to her mother.

"She has keloid marks on her back. Numerous, " halfway thorough tears, ", but the physical marks, are nothing compared to the emotional ones. Keloids can be covered. Her soul, cannot. You should see the way she speaks, though it is in anger, she sounds like she still wants him, "

Oh chile!

", such a strength in her sanity, but she lost sane each time he hurt her, I wish she was wdowed. He is my father, yeah I know. But she, is my mother."

I got it.

You know how they say that Jesus died for us all?
This child was willing to sacrifice it all. For one. She'd rather her mother was painfree and strong, than she had been born and her mother hurt.

I looked up to see her gaze on mine. She released her tears. No more words were spoken. I dared not attempt to convince her. Pity filled me, as she gently wiped her cheeks dry, forced a smile through red eyes, and walked out of the room.

I heard her flipflops flopping on her heels halfway down the hall,, she left me sitting there, to ponder it all.