et. She didn' t look at me. She just pointed do

es' s son, ten years old, and he was the one who had fed me like an animal. I learned

da, had been Mr. Hayes' s "friend" before his wife died. They said Alex believed Brenda had hurr

ated me, too. He didn' t just hate me; he wanted me gone. I hea

n' t belong here. I' ll make them leave. I'

of-fact. It scared me more

t of the mansion, the back stairs, the hallways the staff used. I

cold splash of water that brought back the memory of the swimming pool. A few weeks after the party, he had "accidentally" pushed me in. I couldn' t swim. As I t

was a distant figure, always working. My mother was busy playing the part of the new

sitting at the head of the table, a place that was usually his father' s. A fu

my mother said, her voice tight

picking me, the most vulnerable person in the house, to perform a servant' s

. I started to polish it, my movements small and jerky. He watched me for a moment, then his foot jerked, kicking the can of

ing. I cried out, pulling my hand ba

d down at me, his eyes empty of ever

rvive here, I had to be like a weed. I had to let him step on me, kick me, try to pull me out. And I ha