A day later, when I returned home, the place was empty. I knew Keon had not come back since leaving with Kizzie.
The bed and the floor were still covered in the mess they left behind. I stepped around the stains, rushed into the bathroom and scrubbed myself clean over and over again.
I kept feeling like there was a lingering scent on me—as soon as the world fell silent, it would intensify unbearably.
The scent of a man. The scent of a dead child. No matter how hard I washed, it wouldn’t go away!
I broke down, throwing things all over the floor, then collapsed into the bathtub, sobbing. Just as the suffocating feeling took hold, I suddenly thought of my parents.
Back then, when I found out I was going to marry Keon, I was overjoyed. I carefully picked out every piece of my dowry, while my parents paid for everything. Except for one thing—the file folder at the bottom of the pile, which they handed to me themselves.
I remembered the day I left home. Mom gave me that folder and said, “Kelsey, even though this marriage has a purpose behind it, your father and I still wish you happiness. If, one day, you no longer feel happy, remember—your parents will always be there for you.”