On that sorrowful afternoon, Poppy, not heeding Selena's command, was met with a sharp slap that echoed through the crowd.
Poppy, just a tender three years of age, was left inconsolable after the blow. In a fit of impatience, Selena seized the weeping Poppy with a deliberate roughness, tossing her into the car and then heartlessly casting her out onto the pavement.
Poppy's small head met the unforgiving ground with a thud, and from the wound, a crimson stream began to flow.
I was so mad!
In a desperate surge, I lunged forward to reclaim my daughter, but a rogue car, ignoring the red light, surged forth with lethal speed, striking me with such force that I was hurled through the air and finally landed several feet away.
As life ebbed away from me, the final image seared into my soul was of my beloved Poppy, trying to stem the blood from her wounded head with her hand as her cry pierced through the chaos. She called out for me.
Following my tragic end, Henry, once my husband, assumed control over my remains. With a detached resolve, he had me cremated.
"Purchasing a cemetery plot is far too costly. Why not simply find some arbitrary spot and scatter her ashes there?"