I tried to run, but he was on me with the fury of a psycho, beating me and pushing me into a corner, blackness wrapping around me. I thought he would kill me for sure, but then there was a thud … a low, empty thud, and he stopped. His face turned blank, his eyes glazed over and zoned out and he crumbled to the floor to reveal my mother standing behind him. A huge, twisted, wooden sculpture from the wall unit, held above her head. She glared at me, her eyes red rimmed, her face white and bloodless; it’s what I saw in that look that will always haunt me; worse than what he had done, what he had been attempting to do that had finally ripped my heart right out and stomped it to death. The anguish on her face, the accusation in her eyes as all I could see was—
“What did you do, Emma?”
I clos
