It was Tracy—the one who had brought me nothing but nightmares and the biological daughter of my foster parents.
"You're truly pathetic. No one even wants to come pick you up. I only came to watch you make a fool of yourself," she said, a smirk on her face.
She pinched her nose, disgusted and added, "You smell awful, like a pile of rotten dung."
Tracy, disgusted by the muddy path, complained about how it dirtied her Chanel heels. She quickly jumped into the passenger seat, clearly terrified of catching even the slightest trace of me.
Finally, she could escape this hell.
For the past five years, I had imagined this moment over and over. With renewed determination, I scrambled to my feet.
Just as I was about to grab the car door handle, the car suddenly started moving.
Fear gripped me—they might leave me here in this hell. My body shook with panic as I desperately tried to keep up with the car.
Years ago, when I tried to escape under the cover of night, a neighbor had caught me and in a fit of rage, my foster parents used the handle of an axe to shatter one of my legs. Since then, I’ve been unable to move with any speed.