Chapter 3: The Sanctuary
The emergency room was a blur of fluorescent lights and sterile smells that fought against the lingering scent of charcoal on my skin. The doctors were kind, but their faces tightened when they saw the shape of the burn—a deliberate, linear brand.
“This didn’t happen by accident,” the attending physician said, pulling me aside while a nurse tended to Ava.
I didn’t lie. I couldn't. I gave them every detail.
By the time we left the hospital, it was midnight. I didn't go back to my parents’ house. I went to a motel three towns over, a place where the neon sign flickered and nobody knew my name.
As I tucked Ava into the stiff, itchy sheets, she looked at me, her eyes wide and hauntingly older than seven.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Grandpa said it was my fault because I was running.”
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I felt a surge of fury so hot it felt like my own skin was burning. I sat on the edge of the bed and took her uninjured hand. “Ava, look at me. You were playing. You were being a child. What happened was not an accident, and it was never, ever your fault. He is a sick man, and we are never going near him again.”
That night, I didn’t sleep. I sat by the window, watching the dark parking lot. I realized then that my father wouldn't let this go. He was a man who needed control, and he had just lost his greatest source of it. I had to be smarter, faster, and stronger than the man who had raised me.
