Chapter 3
Chapter 3
I remember that rainy night in third grade.
My stepmother and father had a fight, and the sound of shattered dishes filled the house.
My father, furious, slammed the door behind him.
The living room was filled with her heart–wrenching sobs, and I sat huddled in the corner of my bed, clutching my knees and shivering….
Because after she’d take her frustrations out on my dad, she’d always turn her anger on me.
expected, the sobs stopped abruptly when the door slammed open with a bang.
My stepmother’s anger flared again, “You little bitch! Get your ass up!”
Her words were followed by a sharp pain that coursed through my body, starting from my scalp.
She yanked me by my hair and dragged me violently off the bed.
It was a starry night.
The dim light cast shadows as her slaps landed mercilessly across my face.
I let out a heart–wrenching scream:
“Mom, please stop! Don’t hit me! Zoe will be good, Zoe will be good!”
But nothing worked.
By the time she was done, my face was a bloody mess.
She, too, was exhausted from the violence, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she threw me out the door as soon as she could.
The hallway was dimly lit, and the storm outside raged like a beast hungry for its prey.
Suddenly, the light behind me was blocked by a shadow…
I furned around quickly–there was a boy, about my age, reaching out to me with a soft, innocent hand.
His eyes were bright and clear, his voice gentle:
“Stop crying. I’ll take you home.”
Finally, someone was letting me off the hook.
