down the street, clinging to one of them. Dad had been stabbed trying to save us. The department had assigned us protection. When Dad recovered, he’d given me the lamb. It contained a small stun gun. He’d shown me how to use it, over and over, stroking my hair. “So you can protect yourself, even when
Daddy’s not around.”
Now…he didn’t even remember.
Back at home, Dad checked his phone and
saw my text. Meticulous as always, he called
Mom. I thought they’d finally realize
something was wrong.
“She’s pulling that I’m being followed‘ crap
again, Carol! Tell her to spend a few extra
days at Jason’s grave! Maybe that will knock
some sense into her!”
No, Dad! It’s real this time! I’m not lying!
Please, just believe me!
He just frowned, irritated.
I hoped Mom would sense something was wrong. After that first incident, years ago, I’d
<
wrong. After that first incident, years ago, I’d
never dared to text them about being
followed again.
Mom soothed Dad, then her voice turned cold. “I got the same text. Little drama queen. I told her to stay at the cemetery for a couple of days. I don’t want to see her.
“3
They continued their rant, listing my flaws, my failures. Dad reminded Mom to lock the doors and windows. Neither of them considered for a second that I might be in real danger:
I huddled in a corner of the room, my heart aching. They didn’t care.
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