Chapter 8: Bruises and Memories

I’m worried sick. My stomach’s been twisted in knots for three days.

Where am I supposed to find a man for my stepsister? Eligible bachelors don’t just fall from the sky, especially ones who’d survive her personality.

But if I don’t, she’ll kill me. She’s unhinged enough to make it look like an accident, then cash out the life insurance Father probably put on all of us.

My neck’s ringed with purple fingerprints—a morbid necklace. My waist is bruised so dark it hurts to bend, sit, or even breathe.

My stepsister is getting more violent every day.

I took out my treasured ointment—generic Neosporin from the dollar store—and squeezed the last bit from the tube, remembering how Mom used to blow on my scrapes and call me her brave girl. Nobody did that anymore.

I dabbed the ointment on my skin, hoping it would help me heal faster. I needed to be ready for whatever came next.