Chapter 3

It was another two weeks before I saw my mother again.

It was a rare sunny morning.

Mrs. Gable had ordered me to help her gather the laundry. It was the first time I was allowed to step out of the attic.

Clutching a stack of folded shirts, I walked down the long second-floor corridor. As I turned the corner, I saw her sitting in a wicker chair on the balcony.

She was wearing a simple white nightgown, the sunlight tracing a soft, golden halo around her profile.

For a split second, she looked exactly like the mother who smiled in that old photograph.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Gathering my courage, I took a step forward. My bare foot stepped on a dry leaf, making a soft *crack* sound.

She whipped her head around. Her eyes widened, and the softness on her face was instantly replaced by pure terror.

"Mom..." I began.

She bolted upright, stumbling backward until her spine hit the balcony pillar with a dull thud.

"Mom, I..." I hugged the shirts tightly and took another step forward, reaching out toward her.

"Ahhh—!" she shrieked. She grabbed a heavy glass tumbler from the side table and threw it at me with all her strength.

*Shatter!*

The glass exploded against the doorframe right behind me, shards flying everywhere.

A sharp piece of glass sliced across my cheek.

But she didn't stop. She grabbed a potted plant, screaming maniacally as she hurled it at me. "Stay away! Don't come near me!"

Charles rushed out of the house, locking his arms around her from behind. "Evelyn! Evelyn! It’s me! Charles is here!"

Mrs. Gable ran over, grabbing my arm and pulling me back. "Get out of here! Stop triggering her!"

I was dragged back to the attic. The cut on my cheek was bleeding, burning with a sharp pain.

Much later, the faint, stuttering sound of the piano drifted up from downstairs. The melody would stop halfway, then start all over again. Over and over.

Mrs. Gable said she was sick.

She didn't mean to throw things at me.

I hugged my knees, curling into the corner as I listened to the broken piano music.

Mom was trying so hard.

Once she got better, would she try just as hard... to love me?

I didn't know how long I would have to wait.

But I would wait.

I buried my face in my knees and whispered, "Mom, get well soon. I won't scare you again. I'll be so, so good."