Sometimes you need claws (Fiveminutes freewrite)

Sitting on the carpet with her favorite dolls having a tea-party at their round pink plastic table, the little girl cannot take her eyes from her mother getting ready for the real party, her birthday party which will be awesome as Sophia is turning five. She's a big girl now and she thinks she's ready to have her nails done, just like Mom. But Mom tells her it's late and she'll ruin her pretty dress with polish and look how late it is. Time to decorate the dining room.
It's something she's been waiting all morning to do, but she still thinks having colored nails would be so cool.
'One day I'll have long painted nails, just like Mom', she tells herself.

That day came soon enough and she painted her long perfect nails bright red for her first date with the boy of her dreams. The color of passion, the color of blood. A night came when her nails got red with real blood as she bit on them. The pain in her fingers was nothing like the pain in her heart as the bastard had moved on to grace another girl's dreams.
Her nails grew back and healed and were beautiful once more. She had them done in a pearly white to match her dress on the wedding day, but that was the exception for she liked to paint them all the colors in the world: yellow and green for a picnic in the park, blue for a trip to the beach, ten different shades of red for their first anniversary.

She cut them short when the baby arrived, for a newborn's skin is so soft and delicate. Those were the years of the sensible mommy manicure, when there was little time to do her nails and it really didn't matter.
A time came when Sophia had enough time to take care of herself and her nails were long and painted again. But then she started biting on them again, even though the sorrow was not hers this time. In a sense it was, though, as every time her girl was hurt there would be a scar on her heart too. And there were many, for Layla was so sweet and trustful, too easy a prey in a world where sometimes you need claws, not small fragile nails to survive.

Every Sunday, Brian visits her at the hospital, bringing with him flowers and photo albums, which he lays on her lap, pointing and explaining every picture to her. All the pictures telling her story - all the parties, all the picnics, all the joy. Nothing of the sorrow. No need for that. All the sorrow was locked in her heart the day the nails sealed their Layla in her coffin. The hands carefully folded on her chest. Her nails - a chaste shade of pink the people at the mortuary thought suitable for such a young girl.
His strong hard nails dig deep into his skin as he leaves Sophia behind in the colorless room. He'll be back next week. He's not giving up on her.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt: nails. Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.
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