Chapter 5

The fever that burned through me lingered for two weeks before it finally subsided.

Grandma Dolores paraded around the neighborhood, bragging about her “effective homemade remedies.” What she didn’t mention were the awful side effects.

It wasn’t until I started school that I noticed something was wrong. My left leg would sometimes go numb without warning.

At first, the episodes were infrequent, so I didn’t think much of it or tell anyone.

Why would I? I knew no one would care.

It wasn’t until I graduated elementary school that the problem worsened. I started tripping over myself, my limp becoming noticeable. That’s when I realized just how serious it was.

But by then, it was too late for treatment.

Mom’s resentment only grew.

Six years had passed since Baby’s death, and she had finally moved on. But she would never accept a daughter with a limp.

I was nothing but a blemish to someone as obsessed with perfection as Evelyn Hackett.

By then, I was used to it. I had grown so independent I hardly noticed her absence.

I walked to school and back, lived on my schedule, and never relied on anyone. It wasn’t all bad.

The only thread connecting me to my parents was the monthly allowance they sent.

But when I entered middle school, even that tiny tie began to fray.

Teenagers can be cruel, and I became the perfect target. A small, frail girl with a limp and no parents to stand up for her? I was easy prey.

The bullies stuffed all kinds of disgusting things into my desk.

Sometimes it was worms. Other times, it was frogs.

But the creatures always shared one thing: their legs were broken.

I knew they were mocking me, but I didn’t have the strength to fight back.

Like the helpless frogs they left behind, the more I struggled, the more viciously they attacked.

The worst incident happened when I found a dead centipede in my backpack. Its body was dry and shriveled, its legs entirely gone.

It was horrifying.

That day, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I ran to the teacher, sobbing as I told her what had been happening.

The school took the bullying seriously. The teacher called the bullies’ parents—and my mom.

Her response? It's as cold as ever.

“Why are they only picking on you? Maybe you should take a good look at yourself. Figure out what you’re doing wrong. If you keep causing trouble, just quit school. I don’t want you embarrassing me any further.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Her indifference emboldened my bullies even more.

After a scolding from the school, they started taking my allowance every month as soon as it arrived. They didn’t care how I’d survive after.

With no other choice, I started working in the school cafeteria, trading labor for meals.

But even that wasn’t enough for them.

Once they had spent all the money they had stolen from me, they pressured me to find other ways to earn more.

“See that bar over there? Girls your age can make hundreds in a night dancing onstage.”

“I heard your mom’s a dancer. Bet you’re just as good, huh?”

I shook my head, stepping back instinctively.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew I could never go to a place like that.

But they didn’t care what I thought.

When I tried to run, one grabbed my hair and yanked me back. Another kicked my leg, sending a jolt of pain through my limp.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to march right in there and do what we tell you, or you’re dead meat!”

Gritting my teeth, I snapped back, “Kill me, then! I’m not going!”

“Look at you, acting tough,” one of them sneered. “No, Dad,o who will save you now?”

Their laughter echoed in my ears as they dragged me toward the bar.

I stopped struggling. My vision dimmed, and I felt the last bit of hope leave me.

I hated my weakness, but I understood even more clearly that their audacity came from knowing I had no parents to rely on.

They were cruel, awful kids, yet their parents enabled them without limits, excusing their every action.

And me? I worked hard, stayed obedient, and did everything right. I was the “good girl” every neighbor praised.

But still, I was the girl with a mother who gave birth to me—but never raised me.