The second layer of blue nail varnish was almost done. What made it royal was beyond me. It needed a top coat, but I didn’t have time to let it dry. Besides, I was all out of top coating. I should finish packing, but I just want one quick trip to the parlor.

I shouldn’t hang out at the ice cream parlor. Both Mom and Karen from the Lions want me to stay away. Karen is always on about good girls this, good girls that. Oh! And thinking ahead. Karen even threatened to stop sponsoring my football club membership if I didn’t change for the better. Lately, Mom has started parroting Karen’s good girl line. Now, I’m being double-teamed.

There are good girls and sluts. I’m not cut out to be a good girl, but I don’t want to be a slut either. I just enjoy hanging out at the ice cream parlor. The older boys there don’t ignore me, they take an interest in me. There, I’m not an outcast.

I’m not chasing boys, not really, not seriously. It is just that I love that whoosh in my belly, the racing heartbeat when a cute boy is checking me out. The sense of ... something when I glance back with a knowing smile. The way he blushes when his head snaps back, knowing I have caught him ogling me. I relish that sense of power. I shouldn’t feel that way. Good girls don’t have those feelings. I want to be a good girl. Sometimes it’s just so hard. There must be something wrong with me.

“I’m going out,” I called.

Mom was in the hallway. She took one look at me. She sounded like an angry teacher. “You are not going out dressed like that, young lady,” her index finger pointed straight at my nose.

I froze at the door, put on my best little-miss-innocent expression, and faced mom. Maybe this time, she wouldn’t see through my scheme. Careful not to smudge the still wet nail varnish, I held the pleated skirt out between two fingers. “But Mom. Look, the hem reaches the knees.”

Mom placed her palms on her hips and nodded towards my chest. “The skirt is fine. That top is too tight.”

Dang, she’d seen through my diversion. I had chosen the skirt both because it had the required length and didn’t scream secondhand shop. The top, though, was perfect. Tight ... ish, but it made my boobs pop. I planned to undo the top button when I was out of the door. That plan, though, was going nowhere.

I had been thinking ahead. So, onto Plan B. The white, almost see-through shirt and the lace bra. But first, the setup, “but, Mom, it’s just to the ice cream parlor.” Mom would refuse, and then I would offer to change the top.

Mom stepped menacingly between me and the glass-paned front door. “I mean it, Madison. Nice girls don’t show off their bodies like that. I don’t want you to attract that level of attention.”

My eyes darted to Mom’s face. Was I in real trouble? There was no smell of alcohol, and her nostrils weren’t flaring. So no, I was still good. I threw a last longing glance at the matted glass in the door.

Mom walked up to me with her arms at her side, a stern frown on her face, “I don’t want you to chase after boys.”

Time to back off. “No, Mom.”

She put a hand on my arm and tugged on the tight sleeve around my upper arm. Mom’s voice was soft ... gentle. “I appreciate how you feel, honey. I was fourteen once too.”

Yeah, right, when the dinosaurs roamed the earth. No, that wasn’t fair. Mom wasn’t thirty yet. All of my classmates’ moms are a lot older. She doesn’t care how I feel. Ever since her last visit to grandpa she’s been on my case. One moment it’s ‘don’t do this!’, ‘don’t wear that!’, and the next moment she’d hug me and tell me how pretty, how happy I’ll be when I grow older.

I rolled my eyes.

Mom tsked and gave my arm a light shove. “I was. At your age, I was the same. I couldn’t wait for my chest to grow bigger, get more curves, and fill out. It will happen. Sooner than you think, you’ll be a beautiful young woman.” She gave my hair a tug. “Strawberry blonde hair, big blue eyes. You’ll be the envy of all the girls.”

Mom enveloped me in a warm, soft hug.

I loved being hugged by mom when she was in a good mood. Her flowery perfume, warm embrace, and her soft heartbeat made me all gooey inside. Resting my head on her shoulder, I hugged her back. I just stood there, soaking up the comfort. I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath of air. Mom worked so hard. I really should behave better.

She let go of me, held me out by the shoulders, and held my eye. “Have you finished packing?”

“Almost,” I fibbed. I was putting it off because I hated the campsite.

Mom’s fingers tightened a little on my shoulders. She cleared her throat in that why-don’t-I-believe-you way all moms learned. “Go change, then finish packing. It won’t be long before we leave.”

I turned and dragged myself toward my room with a heavy sigh of protest. Willing or not, we were going. If I objected too much, she’d get angry ... again.

“Pack your black swimsuit. I don’t want you to put your body on display in front of the boys.”

I spun around and threw up my hands, “But Mom, it’s so frumpy.”

Mom raised her eyes to the ceiling, her lips in a thin line.

Oops, I’d forgotten. She had an identical one. She’d gotten them as a mother-daughter thing. I blushed and looked down. “Sorry, Mom.”

Her face softened. “It is on the modest side. I want you to be respectable in front of your brothers and nephews.”

Mom wants me to be a nice, modest girl. Me? I want the world to see I’m turning into a young woman. Maybe I could sneak in the high-cut white swimsuit. It makes my hips more prominent. Or what about the red string bikini? I’d only dared to try it on in the privacy of my room. It was so sexy, so revealing. It was so small I had to shave down there.

I sighed, “yes, Mom.”

I had only gone a few steps before mom called out behind me, “and remember tampons and night pads.”

“Ew, gross,” came from Mason’s room. Then, in a pretend deeper voice, he continued, “trust no one who can bleed for days without dying from their wound.”

My cheeks burned crimson red. Why did Mason have to hear that? He was always on my case, bugging me or creeping me out. Now, he even quoted the Bathroom Creeper.

I called Edward the Bathroom Creeper because when he was living with us, he always needed to take a dump when I was in the shower. He’d sit on the john and stink up the room, while he watched me through the semi transparent shower curtain.

I spun and yelled, “Mom!” She had no right to humiliate me like that. “Yell it out to the world. It isn’t even my time yet.” I hadn’t had an accident in ages. Besides, it wasn’t as if mom didn’t have accidents. I knew what a bed-sheet soaking in a bucket of cold water in the bathroom meant.

I did almost all the laundry. Mom didn’t let me do her racy undies, club wear, or the boys’ underwear. As if I could get pregnant from boys’ underwear. I knew how people got pregnant, and it wasn’t from underwear.

At least mom had the decency to look ashamed. “Sorry, sweetie. I should have been more discreet.”

Consoled, I turned to my room. Mason is a jerk. He doesn’t understand.

How mom got all our luggage in the rusty, blue Honda, I’ll never know. We’d been driving, like, forever. There was nothing to do except endure the sweltering heat and squint against the bright sunlight. I tried to settle my queasy stomach by focusing on the open green fields and wooded glens zipping by. To make things worse, my left nipple itched like crazy. Mom would throw a tizzy if I did anything about it. Good girls don’t fondle their breasts.

Jacob sat in the front on the ratty Cars booster seat he’d grown out of. Mason and I were in the back with the navy canvas weekend bag, clearly marking his and my territory.

Each kilometer got me closer to the campsite. Closer to a gang of bullying boys. Mason, especially when he was with my cousin Thomas, was hell on earth. One minute they would yell at me to go away because girls were useless. The next, they poured water on me in a pretend miss wet T-shirt competition or tried to break down the door to the shower stall because they wanted a peek.

They got away with it most of the time, too, because the adults were busy with their conferences and talks in grandpa’s big cabin.

Mom sang along to a tune on the radio. She was in a good mood. Unlike me, she looked forward to our traditional midsummer family reunions.

My stomach heaved and spasmed, with my mouth slowly filling up with spit. “Mom, can I open the window?”

Without turning her head from the road, mom called back, “Please don’t. I don’t like the drumming sound an open rear window makes. I can turn the fan up. Are you getting car sick? Let me know if we should stop.”

Mom reached down to the control panel and fumbled for the dial by feel. The car swerved. She had taken her eyes off the road to find the dial and turned it to the max.

I leaned forward and stuck my head between the two front seats. It was the only spot where the fan had enough power to push not-so-warm air onto my face. It was an uncomfortable way to sit, but the cooler air on my face was refreshing. “Thank you. I will.” I had to speak out against the noise of the wheezing fan. “So, who is coming this year?”

Mom looked up in the rearview mirror and caught my eye for a moment. “Just the usual. Grandma and Grandpa, their friends. Aunt Laura, Kevin, and their boys. Oh, uncle Michael will be there with Ashley. I think you’ll like that.”

The day brightened a little. The boys either ignored, taunted, hunted, or annoyed me. The men drank beer and barbecued. The women talked about babies, people I didn’t know, and recipes when they weren’t in conferences with Grandpa and his friends. Uncle Michael and Ashley were the only ones who spent time with me. I smiled into the lukewarm breeze. “uncle Michael and aunt Ashley? They taught me to head jump from the boat peer last year. That was fun.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. They’ll be leaving tomorrow morning early. Some vacation thing. I’ll ask Kevin will take you to the lake tomorrow.”

Then Mason yelled out, “Madison, you’re in my space!”

I caught mom’s eyes in the rearview mirror to check if I had to move.

Mom made an ‘I’m sorry nod and rolled her eyes.’

With a sigh, I leaned back into the scalding hot seat.

Trying to calm my churning stomach, I returned my attention to the hills and fields zipping past us. Then Mason farted. Not just a little wind. A big loud one, smelly too.

“Mason, you pig.” I wafted a hand in front of me and breathed through my mouth. “Ew, that stinks.”

Mason just roared with laughter. “The second best thing in the world is a long noisy fart.”

Mason knew how I felt about Edward, the bathroom creeper, yet he kept acting as if he was some kind of hero. The car sickness, smell, and heat all got too much. “You’re so disgusting, you little twit.”

Mom made her displeasure known. “Mason, don’t let out your winds in the car.”

That’s when Mason pulled his get-out-of-jail-free card.

Mason’s voice rang loud enough for mom to hear clearly, “I can see your boobies.”

That was a lie. He just knew that any kind of talk about my privates would divert mom’s anger onto me. He’d done it so many times now. I didn’t know why mom didn’t wise up, why she didn’t realize she was being played. She always saw through my schemes, but never his.

Mom’s angry voice screeched, “Madison, you stop that right now. Sit down. Be quiet. Behave!”

Why was everything suddenly my fault? Why would she even believe him? Anger at the sheer injustice of it all made my eyes sting.

Full of fake sympathy, Mason said, “Oh, is sis getting emo?” Then, in a taunting voice, he sing-sang, “sis is getting her period.”

That’s when I lost it. I have no excuse, not really. My hand just flew out and slapped Mason in the chest. I know I shouldn’t have hit him, but I was just so angry.

Mason played it up for all the sympathy it was worth. “Ouch,” he cried, grabbed his chest, and leaned forward in feigned pain, “that hurt.”

Suddenly, his fist shot out with blinding speed and hit me on my boob, right where the tender, hard spot is.

A flash of sharp pain shot through my chest and into my left arm. Everything tingled and sparked in pain.

Mom stomped on the brakes. I flew forward into my seatbelt. The car came to a screeching halt.

Dizzy, I sat dumbstruck.

Mom rushed around the car. Yanked me out of the car by my arm and yelled into my face, “How many times must I tell you not to fight, to never hit anyone?” She slapped my hand, massaging my hurting boob. “And don’t fondle your tits, especially not in front of the boys!”

The slap on my hand stung almost as bad as mom’s words. The pain in my boob had just lessened, and now this. Behind mom, I could see Mason grinning like the Joker. His eyes shone with glee like he’d just won a big prize. That’s when I lost all sense. I struggled to pull myself free of Mom’s grip. “Let go of me. He started it. He’s playing you, you stupid moo.”

Mom’s hand struck out and hit me on my cheek. Slap!

Instant pain shot through me once again. Flinching, I immediately crouched forward. I knew what was coming. I held one hand up to cover my smarting cheek, the other I held up over my head to fend off further blows.

Mom’s mouth stood open, eyes wide.

She hit me! I’ve lost count of how many times my step-dads had hit me, but not Mom. Not when she was sober. I was breathing fast. I gulped some air into my lungs and spat out, “I hate you.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed into just a thin line. She stared straight at me. Her voice was distant, firm, cold, and full of command. “Jacob, move to the backseat. Now! And you, Madison, not one more word, not a single one.”

In just a moment of acting before thinking, I’d ruined everything. Mason had won another victory. Mom and I had had another fight. I’d said the ugliest thing ever to her. I’d ruined her one happy weekend. Why couldn’t I be the good girl they wanted? My eyes stung. “I’m sorry -”

Mom made a chopping motion in front of me. “Not one word. You hear!”

Mom yanked me by the arm and dragged me to the front seat. “If you’re going to behave like a baby, I’ll damn well treat you like one. Sit down! Be quiet, not one peep.”

It was so unfair. Mason had started it. Okay, I’d continued it, and I should have known better. I knew better. With one careless act, I’d ruined everything. Silent tears flowed down my cheeks.

The rest of the way, Mom’s anger radiated out from her. Her muscles were tense. She had a white-knuckled grip on the wheel. Every motion she made was clipped, abrupt, angry.

Behind me, the two boys sat playing their games on their phones, oblivious to how I’d ruined everything.

The car thundered onto the gravel car park at the campsite and came to an abrupt halt just in front of the low fence lining the car park, right between uncle Kevin’s black SUV and Grandma’s white van.

The rear doors swung open, and the boys rushed out, not even bothering to close the doors behind them. Laughing and hollering, they sped off to the football field behind the colossal chestnut tree where uncle Kevin, probably holding a can of beer in his hand, kicked a ball around with the other boys.

The ‘tink tink’ of the cooling engine was the only sound to break the silence. Almost without breathing, Mom sat with her hands high on the steering wheel and stared out the front window.

My eyes fell to the pink, torn, and shredded heart mom had had tattooed on her arm to hide the scars Edward had left behind. Each red torn-off piece bore a name, Madison, Mason, Jacob. The police had called it a domestic disturbance. To me, it had been the most terrifying night of my life.

I remember the sounds of a fight in the living room. Mom crashing into my room. The house shook when she slammed the door behind her. She pushed her back against the door, a knife in one hand and dripping blood from the other.

Edward’s pounding on the door had sounded like thunderclaps.

Mom had screamed at the top of her lungs, “don’t come in here. I’ll kill you.”

Even now, three years later, I sometimes wake up from that nightmare drenched in sweat.

Luckily, the boys had been at a sleepover at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s. They never saw that last big fight. Mom was driven away in an ambulance. Edward was driven away in the back of a police cruiser.

Mom had gone through so much for us, and I’d just told her I hated her.

Mom turned to me and said, “I’ve got a right mind to confine you to the cabin. But I want you where I can see you. I don’t want you to leave my side.” Mom pulled the key out of the ignition with finality.

All energy had drained out of me. I didn’t have one tear left in me. All I could do was nod my acceptance. Whatever punishment she decided, I deserved it.

Mom said, “Did you hear me?”

I shook out of my fugue, “Yes, Mom.”

“First, you’ll help me unload and unpack. You can unpack our stuff, and I’ll do the boys’ room.”

“Yes, Mom.”

I got out of the car. Grandma and aunt Laura came toward us. They hesitated, slowed down, and then stopped altogether. Something in mom’s face or the way she moved must have warned them off.

“I’m going to greet Mom and Laura. You should do the luggage. If it drags out, leave the boys’ suitcases in front of their door.”

I swallowed the big lump in my throat. “I’m not even allowed to greet Grandma?”

“When you’ve unpacked.”

I didn’t want to set her off again. I didn’t dare push further. “Yes, Mom.”

Mom joined aunt Laura and Grandma, and arm in arm they walked, heads bent in talk, towards a wooden table on the patio. Grandpa was nowhere to be seen.

Getting the first bag out of the car, I made my way across the paved patio and around the combined kitchen and shower building. The air smelled of dust and hay, and the brown grass crunched under my feet. I sat the canvass bag in front of the small wooden cabin my and Mom would share for the next three days.

Logging the heavy suitcases around in the summer heat was grueling work. I was on my third trip when this uber-cool fire-engine red sports car noiselessly rolled onto the gravel. The roof was down, and aunt Ashley waved enthusiastically.

I dropped the suitcase and stared in sheer awe. That was some fancy car. It must be nice to feel the wind rush by you when you zipped around the countryside.

Uncle Michael got out of the car. Faded blue jeans and a T-shirt matching the red color of the car. A Liverpool T-shirt! My heart gave a little jump. I didn’t know uncle Michael was a fan too. His tanned skin made the bright red color look good on him. Bulging muscles made the T-shirt sit snug around his broad shoulders and chest.

Mom and aunt Laura got up and came towards the car park.

I just stood there, mouth agape. My eyes darted from the beautiful car to uncle Michael to aunt Ashley. She matched both the car and uncle Michael. Mom would ground me, like forever, if I wore a dress like that, bright red, figure-hugging, bare-backed. It almost, but not entirely, covered aunt Ashley’s rounded behind. The halter top plunged to just cover her nipples.

Aunt Ashley was a small youthful woman, maybe a centimeter or two taller than me. Uncle Michael was a giant. The top of my head barely reached his chest.

Uncle Michael came up to me with an ear-splitting grin. “Madison!” He lifted me off the ground and spun me around. “How is my beautiful favorite nice?”

At that moment, in the blink of an eye, something clicked inside me. All those forbidden sensations from the ice cream parlor welled up inside me. Stomach flutters, racing heart, blushing cheeks, warm pulses down there, all of it! Ten times, no, a hundred times more intense. I couldn’t help burst out in loud laughter.

Every little detail about uncle Michael sprang into instant clarity. His short dark hair, the laughing blue eyes, the chalk-white teeth behind a goofy smile, the bulging muscles in his arms, the feel of his firm hands holding me snug and secure while he spun me around seared into my mind.

At that moment, I knew that love at first sight was a real thing. My mind flashed to all the things men did with women, and I wanted uncle Michael to do them all to me.

Uncle Michael set me gently down.

I stood there, out of breath, my heart pounding in my throat. My soul vibrated, and my body giggled and tingled.

Uncle Michael made a curvy motion in front of his chest. “My, you’ve grown.”

My mind stood still. I couldn’t bring a word over my lips. I nodded eagerly, happily. My cheeks burned even hotter. My face split into a cheery grin.

“Uh, braces too?” He reached out and ruffled my hair.

Oh! No! I clamped my mouth shut. My hands flew up and hid my ugly teeth. My eyes fell to the ground between us. Uncle Michael was so handsome, and I was an ugly duckling with braces. Why couldn’t I be pretty, like Mom, like Ashley, like everyone else?

“I think you look cute with train tracks,” he ruffled my hair. “It makes your pretty smile stand out.”

Uncle Michael thought I had a pretty smile. I rose my head slowly and smiled at him with my lips closed.

He crouched down, looking up at me. He let out a sigh and said, “think of them as a rite of passage. Something you must go through to go from a pretty girl to a beautiful woman. Like a butterfly.”

My body felt light. The slightest gust of wind could have blown me away like a balloon. Uncle Michael thought I was pretty. I took a shaky breath. “Hi, uncle Michael.”

Uncle Michael tilted his head and squinted slightly. “How old are you now, Madison?”

“Fourteen.” I was way too young for uncle Michael. Was that why he asked how old I was? I knew I should have said something, added something, to make me appear older, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Exciting and tough age, Kiddo. So many new experiences. When I was your age, I felt like a stupid klutz all the time.”

My eyes roamed his face. Was he kidding? It looked and sounded as if he meant it, but he was so uber cool. He could never have been like me.

Uncle Michael chuckled, “It’s true, Kiddo.” He rose and smiled at the approaching adults.

Having uncle Michael’s attention, knowing he was interested in me had been nice, but he was an adult. Adults were like boys. They hang together in their clique. Being the only girl was no fun.

Uncle Michael raised a hand and waved. “Sorry we’re late. The traffic around Greenvalley was murder.”

Aunt Ashley stepped up to me. She had her head tilted slightly to one side. Her bright red lips pursed in a wry smile. She had a calculating look in her green eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you this summer.” She opened her arms and moved in for a hug.

Had aunt Ashley noticed my interest in uncle Michael? If she had, she had to be furious. But she didn’t sound or look angry. Why had she smiled at me that way? I rushed into the hug to hide my confusion from her, “It is nice to see you too, aunt Ashley.”

We matched heights almost perfectly, despite aunt Ashly being so much older than me. My interest in uncle Michael was wrong. He was too old. He was family, and he was taken. aunt Ashley would be furious if she knew what I felt.

Aunt Ashley took a step back. “Please, just Ashley. aunt makes me sound so old.”

With downcast eyes, I stepped back too. aunt Ashley had everything. She was so self-assured, so cute. Rosy cheeks, full lips, and long dark eyelashes framed her sparkling green eyes. She had everything I wanted: a handsome husband, a red sports car, and pretty clothes.

She gave my arm a comforting rub and moved up to uncle Michael and the other grown-ups. She wrapped her arm possessively around uncle Michael’s arm.

Yup! She’d noticed my reaction, and now she was marking her territory. Telling me, ‘he is mine’ in no uncertain terms, as if I didn’t already know that. Besides, I was just a stupid girl. Why would any man, especially someone who had a wife as pretty as aunt Ashley, want me?

Aunt Ashley pulled uncle Michael away with the crook of her elbow. “We should settle in before we greet everyone.”

I stood there, my arms hanging limp, feeling lonely, sad. Uncle Michael was the most exciting person I’d ever met, and now aunt Ashley was dragging her prize away from me.

Halfway to their cabin, aunt Ashley looked over her shoulder. She had this odd smile on her lips, and then she said something to uncle Michael.

My eyes widened. She was telling uncle Michael all about my crush on him. Inside their cabin, they’d laugh and joke about their silly niece. Please, dear earth, swallow me up now. I shook my head to get out of my funk. I’d get into even more trouble if I didn’t finish the unpacking soon.

I finally finished unpacking. I had arranged everything neatly, every pile on the shelves, just so. Then I had set the toiletries and had hung the towels on their pegs. The last thing I did was to put the boys’ suitcases by their door.

Coming from inside, the glaring bright outdoor sunlight blinded me. I used a hand as a sunshade and walked towards the shaded part of the patio. Something in the adults’ behavior made me slow down.

You know this feeling you get when you walk up to a group of people talking animatedly? You can’t hear their actual words, just an animated buzz of words. Then, when you get closer, one of them will glance at you and hurriedly turn away again. That person then whispers something to the others.

Your heart beats faster, and your feet grow heavy. You just know they are saying mean things about you.

Their animated arms come down. Their voices grow silent.

Your hands get clammy. Your mouth is dry. You walk even slower.

Then one of them will try to say something, then falter. Another one will say something, but you can tell. They are out of sync.

Your heart beats really fast now. You almost stop, afraid that they’ll burst out laughing at you or say something awful. Your body is really tense. You just want to go somewhere else, be anywhere else. At the same time, you don’t want to let them know you’re afraid, that they’d scared you away.

That is how I felt when I walked up to the grown-ups sitting under the patio sunshade. I didn’t want to be there, but mom had told me to, so I had to. I sat down on the edge of a chair, as far away as I could, while still sitting with them. Two half-full pitchers of lemonade, probably spiked, a half spent six-pack of soda, half a bottle of vodka, and three-quarters of a bottle of rum littered the table.

Mom’s shoulders were sagging, her face slack. From the red in her eyes, I could tell that she had been crying. Great, I scolded myself. You’ve made your mom cry. I was the lowest of low. Lusting after married men. Hitting my brother. Screaming ‘I hate you’ at my mom. Why couldn’t I just be the good girl mother wanted?

“Madison,” I heard a voice call.

I broke out of my reverie and looked around. aunt Ashley held up an empty pitcher. “Could you fetch some more lemonade for me?”

Surprised, I looked at the other pitcher. It was full. aunt Ashley must have emptied one pitcher by pouring the two pitchers together. What did she need more lemonade for? Ah! It dawned on me. She wanted me to leave. Not that I minded. I was grateful. I sent her a weak smile, took the pitcher, and left for the kitchen.

Goosebumps rose on my skin in the stillness of the cool kitchen. The stainless steel implements gave the kitchen a cold, industrial appearance. It looked the way I wanted to feel. I leaned my back against the cool metal of a refrigerator, trying to soak up the calm of the kitchen.

I don’t know how long I stood there. My head was empty, with no emotions, no thoughts—everything on pause.

Heels clicked in the hallway. I sighed resignedly and straightened myself. It was obvious now. Ashley had sent me away so the adults could decide my fate in private. The grown-ups had deliberated my crimes, and she came to deliver the verdict. This must be how a criminal feels in a court. Soon all the uncertainty would be all over.

Aunt Ashley peeked around the door. “Hi, sweetie,” she said in a soft tone, the tone you used to not scare frightened puppies.

I croaked out a “hi.” What else could I say? I just looked down at my feet in shame. The humiliation was perfect. The wife of the man I lusted after came to deliver the sentence.

She leaned against the counter, so close her shoulder brushed against mine, and her warm hand took mine. Almost in a whisper she said, “tough day, huh, kiddo.”

I crumbled and fell apart. I could have handled anger, sternness, firmness. Kindness made my walls crumble. I started bawling, not crying, bawling. Why did I have to be so wicked, so evil?

I don’t know how long I cried. Slowly, my sorrow, anger, and shame mellowed into exhaustion, and my sobs subsided. I realized aunt Ashley was holding me, hugging me.

She kept stroking my hair and repeated over and over again, “there, sweetie, everything will be alright. I promise.”