Chapter 9
I wake up slowly, in stages. First, I feel the tickling sensation of my hair on my face. Then the warmth of the sun on my uncovered arm. For a moment, my mind is floating in that soft, comfortable limbo between sleep and wakefulness, between dreams and reality.
I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to wake fully, because this is so nice.
Then I realize I can smell pancakes cooking in the kitchen.
My lips curl in a smile. It’s the weekend, and my mom decided to spoil us again. She makes pancakes on special occasions and sometimes just because.
The hair tickles me again, and I reluctantly move my arm to push it off my face.
I’m more awake now, and the warm feeling inside me dissipates, replaced by harsh, gnawing fear.
No, please let it all be a dream. Please let it all be a bad
