Chapter 3Dying Twice To Save Her

As soon as she could stand, Hank had her back to work. She was a ghost in chains, hauling water, scrubbing floors, and working the garden.

Hank spent his days at the local dive bar. When he lost at cards, he’d come home and take it out on her, calling her a "jinx." I stayed in the shadows, forced to watch.

After his rage was spent, he would drag her into the bedroom. I’d huddle in the hallway, listening to her muffled cries and his heavy, triumphant breathing.

On the porch, Granny Ruth would listen too, a sickening smile stretching her wrinkles. "We’ll have a grandson soon," she’d prune.

She looked like a ghoul in the yellow porch light, a predator waiting for fresh meat.

Under the cover of night, I started slipping away to the woods behind our shack. The briars tore at my skin, leaving me bloody, but I didn't care. I knew the plants Mom used to talk about. I gathered what I needed and hid the herbs in a hollow log near the creek.

The house sat on the hill like a squat, ugly beast, swallowing Mom’s life whole.

At dawn, I’d be up to fix breakfast, trying to give her a few extra minutes of rest.

"The brat’s actually useful for something," Hank remarked one morning over his bacon.

Granny Ruth tilted my chin up, inspecting me like a heifer at an auction. "She’s got her mother’s looks. She’ll fetch a high price when she’s of age. We’ll get our money back and then some."

I kept my eyes down, playing the part of the vacant, obedient doll.

A month passed. Mom was getting weaker, the light in her eyes flickering out. She looked like she had finally given up. My heart ached, but I couldn't comfort her. She looked at me with pure loathing every time I came near.

Then came the news: she was pregnant again.

Hank was ecstatic. "A son! Finally, an heir!"

Granny actually gave her an egg for breakfast, a "reward" for her fertility.

But that night, the silence was shattered by a scream that sounded like a dying animal. Mom had thrown herself against the corner of the heavy wooden dresser, over and over, until the life inside her was gone.

Blood soaked the floorboards.

Hank was incandescent with rage. He kicked her square in the chest. "You bitch! You killed my son!"

Mom lay in the blood, her face pale as bone, but her eyes—for the first time in months—were blazing.

"I will never," she spat, "bear another monster for a rapist like you."

The word monster hit me like a physical blow. I knew she meant me.

"You’re here to breed, and if you won't do it willingly, I’ll beat it into you!" Hank screamed.

He lashed her until she stopped moving, then tied her to the bedpost so she couldn't even crawl away.

From that night on, she wasn't even allowed in the shed. He moved her to the pigpen.