“But I like school. I like my friends.”
She frowns. “Don’t you like your mommy?”
“I love you,” I say without hesitation.
Her frown fades. “Then you should want to stay home all the time. With me.”
But I don’t. How do I say that to her without hurting her feelings?
There’s a rapid-fire knock on my partially open door, startling us both. We turn to find my father standing in the doorway, his forehead lined with concern when his gaze finds mine.
“You okay, Sylvie-bug?” he asks, his voice gentle.
Before I can answer, my mother answers.
“Don’t call her that. She’s not a bug.” Mommy’s mouth screws up when she says bug. Like it’s a bad word.
“I’m okay,” I tell my dad, grabbing the stuffed unicorn he gave me a couple of years ago and hugging it close. “It’s just a cold.”
A cough escapes me as if to emphasize what I said.
His frown deepens and he glances over at Mommy. “She sounds terrible.”
“We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning,” Mom answers, her voice cool.
Disappointment fills me. I don’t want to go to the doctor. I go there all the time. It’s just a cold. It’s no big deal.
“You always take her to the doctor, yet she never seems to get better.” Daddy flashes me a quick smile before returning his attention to Mommy. “Why is that, you think?”
“What are you trying to say? That you doubt me? They’re still trying to figure out what’s wrong with her.” She starts to leave my bedroom. “We’ll be back, darling.”
I watch them go, can hear them whispering furiously in the hallway, and when their voices rise, I close my eyes, letting my head sink into the pillow.
“Why don’t you let me take care of her for once? Whatever you’re doing, isn’t working.”
“How dare you say that? Like it’s my fault she’s ill. We don’t know what’s wrong with her! At least I’m doing something and trying to help her.”
“I want to help, but you never let me. It’s like you want to keep her all to yourself.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe she’s all I have. Not like you care what I need, or what she needs either.”
My father goes quiet. I can practically feel his anger, and hers too.
They’re always angry when they talk about me. She talks about him when she’s alone with me too. Complaining about Daddy and how he doesn’t love her anymore.
I don’t like it. I don’t want to hear it. Her words scare me. Sometimes…
Shescares me.
ONE
SYLVIE
Three yearsago
“Make a choice,”Mother hisses as she roughly grabs my arm, her hold firm.
Bruising.