Zayla Mitsdarffer glanced up at her mother. Tears that had formed in the corner of her eyes began to find their way down her swollen cheeks.
The conversation that had started out in a lighthearted fashion had turned serious, and it was beginning to overwhelm the 12-year-old. The brave face that had been on display on this warm summer night in rural Bonfield had vanished like the sun that had set only minutes before.
She tugged on the army-style hat on her head. Her eyes began to fill with moisture. She glanced over to her mother seated to her left at the wooden kitchen table.
Her mother looked back. When their eyes connected, the youngster's lower lip quivered, and she buried her head into mom's waiting arms.
"Sometimes it just gets to be too much for her," explained her mother, Christy. "We have our good days and our bad days.
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