His angel

Her mistake was asking too many questions. "Why does mommy cry?" "Why is brother's eye purple today?" "Why can't I have any friends over to play?" She was daddy's little angel, she reminded him of his sister, he'd never hurt her. So when daddy said "Go to your room angel, the grown-ups are going to watch a scary movie," she'd go and play with her dolls, happy she didn't have to watch the monsters on tv. Daddy was her hero, he'd take her to the park and push her on the swings and even though everybody says she was too young to remember, she does remember the way he used to throw her in the air when she was a baby and make her laugh and sing her to sleep. That's why nobody expected it. Nobody expected to wake up that Sunday morning in July to find all the lights out in the house, christmas carols (especially ones about angels) playing, and the mother and little boy asleep on the couch downstairs...and the little girl with her daddy...dead (in the girl's red and yellow ladybug and heart decorated) room upstairs. Nobody understood it. In her daddy's hand was a note: This is my angel. She was too good for this world so I took her out of it. She said "Daddy, I'll talk to God for you, he'll let you in."