It was just a normal day. I was an eleven year old girl with good grades and a bright future. I fell asleep with five different stuffed animals on my bed. My parents were doctors. We all ate breakfast together at the table before school and work. My father would read the newspaper in between bites of his toast. My mother wore an apron and waved to the neighbors while she got the mail. My little sister giggled with her missing front teeth and milk mustache. The perfect family. The perfect life.
That night I held my little sister’s hand as we hid under her bed and our parents were murdered.