CHAPTER TEN
The house was still. The sound of the slamming door echoed faintly through the walls, then faded into a silence so heavy Amara could barely breathe. Her mother hadn’t moved from the hallway. She just stood there, staring into the room like she was seeing a stranger instead of her daughter.
Amara wiped at her face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. The pillow was wet from where she had cried into it. Her throat hurt. Her chest hurt worse.
“Mom,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please, say something.”
Her mother blinked, slow and distant, like she hadn’t even heard her. When she finally spoke, her voice was thin, tired, broken. “What did I do wrong with you?”
Amara shook her head, choking on her own breath. “You didn’t do anything. I swear—”
“Don’t.” Her mother’s voice cut
