I was supposed to die. It was all supposed to end. The pain. The fear. As I felt myself fading, I didn’t fight it. I was ready. But Mother wouldn’t let me go. Not because she cared about me.
Because I was worth more to her alive. She left me broken and bleeding on the floor, assuming that I’d been beaten back into submission.
What she didn’t know was that in my moments of disobedience, my rebellious acts of free will, I had grown close to three sons of Haven’s Rebels. Through them, I’d met my biological father.
And neither he nor they will turn a blind eye to my suffering like so many before. I never intended to bring anyone into my hell, but now I’m not alone. I have people fighting for me.
Making promises to protect me that I’m terrified to believe. For too long, I’ve been let down and disappointed. For too long, death was my only way to be free. What is so different now?
Why are they different?
