Mommy!
She sat amid her life. The kitchen, the purse emptied out onto the table in front of her.
There hung the pot holders she had crocheted for her hope chest at age 11. Over there, the new range they had bought four years ago. The curtains her mother had sewn let the morning sun through, warming the room.
This place, these things were her life. She smiled and enjoyed the feeling of comfort being there brought.
Her hand stroked the pistol, lying amidst the materials from her purse. Lipstick, tissues, a billfold, keys, and the shiny pistol.
“Mommy” Her three year old called from behind her.
She picked up the pistol, turned to her daughter, and slowly pulled the trigger.
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