13

I stagger to my unsteady feet, rubbing at my face with the back of my hands and wiping them on my denim shorts before I neatly lay the jacket on my forearm. It needs to be all prim and proper like him. Though I probably smudged it with my snot and tears earlier. Yikes. My fingers graze the bracelet he gave me as I tiptoe around the corner, searching for a very familiar tall man with eyes that could send someone to hell. Specifically me. Still, I forge on because I can’t do this on my own. I can’t stare at Dad’s bruised, lifeless body and remain standing. No amount of lists or desensitizing or empty brain syndrome could have prepared me for this. My sneakers make an inaudible sound on the floor as I look for him. It doesn’t take me long to find him, but before I can rejoice, my heart clenches. He’s not alone. He’s with the witch. Aspen. Dad calls her that. The witch. I haven’t used that name for her in the past, but now I do because maybe she’s enchanting Nate with black magic. After al