That part was true.īut then she wrote that she was going San Francisco. In it, she had written that she was sorry, that she wished she’d never been born, that she didn’t want to make them angry, and that she’d never bother them again. It would be better not to face the world with visible bruises. She could do this.īy the light of her phone, Katrina applied concealer around her eye and to her cheek. She was in her room, behind a locked door. Katrina clutched her ribs, then propped herself up. Through the dark, she heard her mother’s one last cough. Breathe, be quiet, and listen.Īnd so, Katrina listened … for footsteps, for breathing, for sleep. Say it’s all your fault-say you’re sorry, say you’ll promise to change.īut another, stronger, part of Katrina was calm, even cold. Why had she let it come to this? Why couldn’t she be what her parents wanted? Katrina had made an escape bag the first time her father threatened to kill her.Īt first, the bag seemed an “in case of emergency,” a glass that one would never break. Her throat was raw from screaming.Ĭautiously, Katrina Nguyen felt under her bed.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |