When I wake,
a woman is sitting next to me. Her skin, which seems paler than humanly
possible, is washed out further by the flowing white dress she wears. She rubs
her hand in small circular motions on my back but I don’t feel it; my body must
be too numb. Ugly sobs jolt through me, but the pounding in my head is worse
than that in my chest.
There’s a
quiet knock on my door, which is gently eased open. Dad.
“Who is she,
Dad? Make her leave.”
He
approaches me cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal that could bolt at
any second. His next words shatter any hope of sanity I have left.
“Make who
leave?”
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