Wuthering Storm

She watches the gray sheet of rain through heavy eyelids. Her ears ring as the steel curtain advances across desolate countryside, consuming shrubs in a thundering that vibrates the oak beneath her toes, painted plum. She clutches her floral mug. The coffee’s cold.
Lightning echoes through clouds. She squeezes her eyes shut against the memory.
Sophie’s mittens gripping hers. Sophie’s pleading. Sophie’s delight, caramel coating her mouth. Sophie’s desperate hazel eyes, choking. Mother’s screaming. Her own voice, calling for help.
She pulls her knees up, dripping silent tears.
I tried to save her, Mom.
“Your fault.”
The storm strikes.