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PROLOGUE
“Please, don’t!” I cry. “Help! Somebody!”
No one’s coming. No one ever does.
“Shut your mouth, Eleanor,” he snaps, voice sharp like the crack of an unforgiving belt. I flinch. He stinks. He stinks like the whiskey he drinks and something else, like rotten meat.
His hand clamps around my neck. Tight. I kick, trying to breathe, but the air won’t come. My chest burns. Tears spring to my eyes. My legs twitch in the empty space beneath me.
The room spins. Dark and light swirl together like they’re fighting. I bite the inside of my cheek. Blood fills my mouth.
This is my room.
It’s supposed to feel safe.
It used to feel safe.
Before Momma.
Before him.
“You’re my wife,” he says, softer now. That’s worse. That sticky-sweet voice means something bad is coming. “A wife must please her husband. That’s God’s law.”
“No!” I try to scream, but it comes out small. Weak.
His hand moves down. Heavy. Rough. My nightgown bunches up, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.
“A woman belongs to her husband,” he says. “Ephesians 5:22. ‘Wives, submit yourselves…’” His voice drips like oil.
I don’t know what that verse means. But it makes my stomach twist like a wet rag.
The tears leaking from my eyes now fill my ears. Maybe now I won’t be able to hear him.
Even with everything happening, I can still smell the faint smell of Momma’s soap. Lemon and bleach. I wonder how long until that smell disappears. Until the whole house smells like him and nothing like her.
He pauses. His grip eases, just a little. “That’s my girl,” he whispers. “You’re mine. Always been mine.”
I don’t want to be his, but I don’t know what else to do.
I can’t run. I can’t scream.
But I can hate.
That hate burns in my chest. Small and hot, like the fire Momma kept in the fireplace during the cold West Virginia nights.
“I’m not Eleanor,” I cry, voice breaking like glass.
He freezes and pulls himself back. His eyes narrow, confusion clouding his already whiskey-clouded vision.
“I’m not her,” I whisper. “I’m Lydia.”
His face twitches.
I stare up at him through tears, my breath shaking. “I’m her daughter.”
I’m his, too.
CHAPTER
