But lying there in the dark, crumpled on the cold floor, hurt even more. So I forced myself up. One trembling step after another, I dragged my body to my room. I found the small first-aid kit I had hidden long ago—the only thing in this house that ever felt like it belonged to me. My fingers shook as I dabbed at the cuts, wrapped the wounds, whispering to myself not to cry. Not this time. Not anymore.
From the other side of the walls, laughter spilled in. Their laughter. My family—my husband, my son, my granddaughter, my stepsister—excitedly talking about the cruise trip. I could almost see them in my head: Oliver boasting about his connections, Beatrice smiling sweetly as if she owned everything, Jackson bragging about how much fun Coreen would have. Their joy thundered in my ears like knives scraping bone.
And me? I was nothing more than the shadow left behind.
But not this time.