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Sucking in a deep breath, I savor the scent of the old books that line the wall beside me.
Walking over, I pull out the book that has been read the most out of the entire collection.
Jane Eyre.
It was her favorite.
It’s the only one out of this entire collection that isn’t pristine.
Lifting the book to my nose, I suck in another deep breath and close my eyes.
Immediately, I see her.
Sitting in the window seat in the kitchen that looked out over the yard with this book resting in her lap, lost in her own world.
Despite everything, if she had a book in her hand, she felt like she could endure anything.
If I only had any idea the kinds of things she meant when she described her love of literature.
If only I could have understood what her life was like, or how close we were to it being cut short.
If only…
Flipping the book open, I stare down at the photo I keep hidden inside.
It was taken a year before she died.
Killed.
Before she was killed.
It’s the four of us with her in the middle.
She was never happier than when we were all together.
We were her life. She made sure we knew it too.
All she wanted was for us to be happy and find our places in the world.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew that we’d likely end up following in our father’s footsteps, but as much as she hated it, she never tried to manipulate us.
Looking back now, I understand why she didn’t. How could she when gang life was all she knew?
She was brought up in one and then traded to another.
I shake my head, closing my eyes once again.
“I’m going to put an end to all of this,” I promise quietly.
For you and for Alana.
I will do whatever it takes to put an end to that cunt for both of you.
My chest constricts as I think about what both women went through at the hands of Victor Harris.
Them and so many others.
It’s too late for one of them. But the woman upstairs.
