Chapter 7
“Do you guys remember what it was like when we were kids?“}
“She said… she could see a countdown over our parents‘ heads.” James struggled with the words, but finally managed to get them out.
“So, she must’ve seen the countdown over her own head, too. That’s why she was so prepared for the end,” he added, voice barely above a whisper.
Robert ran his hands through his hair, looking completely wrecked. “So why didn’t we see it? All those years, how did we miss it?”
Tim’s voice was flat, sharp with regret. “Because we never believed her. We called her a witch, a weirdo–anything but family.”
It was the truth, and it landed like a punch in the gut. But what good was regret now?
Suddenly, Robert seemed to remember something. He bolted into my room and started tearing through everything–drawers, closets, boxes–like he was looking for a Vifeline.
Finally, he found it: my scarf, the one he’d shredded years ago, now clumsily stitched back together and hidden away in a small box under my bed.
I’d tried to fix it, piecing together the scraps with shaking hands and tear–stained cheeks. When I ran out of matching yarn, I’d used black thread, each knot and stitch a desperate attempt to make it whole again.
The scarf looked like it had survived a war–black lines zigzagging through it like scars. It was one piece, technically, but it would never be the same.
Robert pressed his face into the scarf and started to shake, silent sobs wracking his body.
He’d seen me dig those scraps out of the trash, years ago, and just stood there, mocking me as I tried to put it back together.
“Ruined is ruined,” he’d said back then, voice cold. “No matter how you try, it’ll never be like before.”
jd understood exactly what he meant. But even so, I’d held onto the scarf, refusing to let go.
Now, the sound of his crying filled the small bedroom. James and Tim stood in the doorway, just watching, not daring to step inside.
It was probably the first time they’d really seen my room–tiny, dark, with peeling paint and old furniture.)
Tim looked stunned. He’d never set foot in here before. He wandered over to my old, cramped wardrobe, packed with every piece of clothing! owned for every season. Everything in that room was old, except the bed in the center. That had only been replaced after it collapsed one night, a splinter stabbing right through the mattress and into my side. Even now, I could still feel the ghost of that splinter in my waist.
“Fifteen years,” Tim whispered. “We misunderstood her for fifteen years.”
“She should’ve grown up as the Roman family’s darling, happy and healthy. Instead, we left her here, trapped.” His voice broke. “We made her sick. We locked her up to force her to apologize to Yvonne. We kept her from taking her exams, ruined her shot at college–her whole future.”
As he spoke, memories I’d tried so hard to bury came flooding back.
Yvonne’s favorite hair clip had gone missing. I was the only one home, sitting at my desk, studying for the SATS and dreaming of my way out–a new life, maybe. But that hope was crushed almost instantly.
I still remembered that day. Yvonne curled up on James’s lap, sobbing. She tried to describe the last time she’d seen her hair clip, her voice thick with tears. “Louisa said it was pretty, too.”
That was all it took. Suddenly, everyone was sure I’d stolen it. No matter how many times I said I didn’t, no one believed me.
They locked me in my room, told me I couldn’t come out until I confessed and gave it back.N
I pounded on the door until my fists were raw, begging them to let me out–just long enough to take my exam. I promised I’d do whatever they wanted afterwards. At first, they hurled insults through the door. After a while, even those faded away.
In that giant, echoing house, the only sound left was my own desperate crying
