Bradl

, low-level bickering. It was a familiar sound, a dull echo of my own childhood, and I learned

't wake up one morning. A heart attack in

ed the world, she blamed the doctors, she blamed him for leaving her. She never spoke to m

en heart. I found her in her rocking chair, a half-finished quil

orphan tw

d eyes, drove me back to the city. My father ha

woman I'd never seen before spoke in hushed, urgent tones with the social

ce. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. Her expre

front of me, forcing a smile that didn't reach her e

y gaze. He looked older, more tired. H

e cast out again. Sent to a home with strangers. The tho

ushing out. "I can cook. I can clean. I

her, at my f

aw nothing there. No love, no r

t, honed by years of neglect, took over. "I'll call you Mom," I

father, then back at me. A little girl, small for her age, who was alre

voice softening, the smile becoming a little m

. I stood beside Cathleen's daughter, Amiyah,

dresses. I was given a thin mattress on the floor of her room. Amiyah got new shoes for school. I in

e from across the room, a mix of curiosity and suspicion in h

homework," I offered, changing the subject. "And I can

ider," she said, seemin

"I'll be here if y

olling over and tur

eakfast. I was the last one to bed, after the dishes were done. I walked Amiyah to and f

h, calling her names. I, small and wiry, stepped between t

shoved me. "Or w

nd brutal. I ended up with a bloody nose

contorted with rage. She didn't ask what happened

"I knew you were trouble! I knew it!" She sho

hen, drawn by the noi

leen accused, pointing at me

the injustice stinging more than

, and his hand flew out, catching me across the cheek. The force of it sent m

rs forgotten. "She's telling the truth! They wer

still raised. Cathleen's

full of anger. "You shouldn't have taken her out of the s

ed her to her room, casting one last, hateful glare over her shoulder at me. I w

ept over to my mattress. "D

en and tender. "I'm used to it,"

ver me. It didn't matter what I did. It didn't matter if I was

y was tight. Cathleen and my father sat

nt school," Cathleen said, not even trying to hid

"You're right. A

ss to my own erasure. I was to stay home, to continue my role as the unpaid maid and na

r of guilt. She would come home from school a

y, "this is what we le

ding out difficult words from her literature textbook. I was a hungry sponge, so

ers and words opening up to me, I felt a flicker of something almost like happin