"If she weren't still useful, I'd lock her in this village for the rest of her life."
All that careful, anxious fussing over each other. The way their voices went soft the second Jean's name came up—warm and easy, like loving her cost them nothing at all.
If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I might have imagined my parents would look at me the same way.
Treat me like their own flesh and blood. Worry when I was sick. Nag me to take my medicine.
My mother noticed the tears leaking from the corners of my eyes and paused.
Then her brow creased.
"God, she's ugly. If it weren't for the DNA report I'd seriously question whether I gave birth to that."
"Honey, just get it over with. I don't want to spend one more second in this godforsaken place."
My father nodded, reached into the back seat, and pulled out an iron rod.
He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me a dozen meters, then tossed me aside like garbage.
Then he swung—straight into my right leg.
He was raising it for the second swing
when I sobbed and clawed my way toward Chief Harmon, who had just walked over.
He looked down at me, and something in his face flinched—a flash of pity he couldn't quite hide.
"So this is the one you sent here to be disciplined."
"That's enough. Leave her to me."
My father dropped the iron rod and hauled a bag of cash from the car, tossing it on the ground.
He glanced at me as I dragged my broken leg, scrambling to get away.
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"This time's different. We're staying to supervise personally."
My mother had been about to leave. She hesitated at that.
But anything involving Jean required no deliberation. She nodded without a second thought.
"Exactly. Nothing can go wrong with Jean's marrow supply."
Marrow supply.
So in the end, I wasn't even a person to her.
I stopped hoping for anything from them.
My fingers locked around the Chief's pant leg, and I tried to hum the lullaby he used to sing me to sleep with when I was small.
But the raw, scalding pain in my throat turned even breathing into agony, and the melody barely came out at all.
The Chief gave me a puzzled look.
He was about to crouch down and study my ruined face more closely
when my father spoke.
"I recall there's a butcher in this village. Sliced up his own wife, wasn't it? A real expert with a blade."
"Bring him over. I've got a job for him."
"Keep her alive and peel the flesh off strip by strip—bet that's a hell of a good time."
As he spoke, his gaze settled on me.
A cruel smile.
As if he was certain that would terrify me into crawling back and behaving.
I gave him the look you'd give an idiot.
The man he was talking about—Old Dale—did have masterful knife skills. He was also fiercely protective of his own.
When I was little and lost a fight to some kid from the next village, Dale went straight to their door and put the whole family in their place.
If he recognized me here, my parents would wish they were dead.
My father saw that nothing was getting through.
He stepped on my injured leg and ground down harder, his face twisted and ugly.
"Think you're tough? Let's find out how long those bones hold."
Beside him, my mother held up her phone and gestured for him to keep it down.
"Jean wants to talk to you. Don't let her know—"
My father snatched up a dirty rag from the ground and stuffed it in my mouth, then took the phone with an expression so doting it could have been a different man entirely.
"Baby girl, have you been listening to the doctor? Taking your medicine like a good girl?"
"Daddy's taking your little sister on a trip abroad right now. She can't come to the phone."
"Don't worry. You know you'll always be Mommy and Daddy's favorite…"
Faint crying bled through the speaker.
Both of them panicked instantly, cooing and soothing as they walked away.
In the dim light, I clenched my teeth
and pushed the shard of bone jutting through the skin back into the flesh. The pain sent me writhing across the ground.
The Chief's eyes were full of ache. He brought over a bowl of crushed herbal poultice
and pressed it gently over the wound, his mouth opening and closing before the words came.
"Child, don't blame me. The village kids need schooling, and schooling costs money."
Tears streaming, I whimpered and raised my hand—pressed it against my own chest, over and over, desperate for him to understand: *it's me.*
