FRIDA
~•~
I risked a glance at my father before I turned swiftly to my mother. She coughed and blood splattered on the floor where she sat, stabbed by shards of glass.
I knew she was going to wear clothes to mask the injuries until they healed.
I knew my father was going to get away with what he did.
I knew that if I said just one word - the word that lingered at the tip of my tongue - there was every tendency he would stab himself with the knife he was holding, and he would die.
And we would both be free - or not.
But I did not dwell on any of these thoughts. Instead, I did as my mother had instructed and pleaded with me to do.
I turned on my heels and I ran.
I pushed the door of the dining room open and dashed out through the corridor. I didn't go upstairs to my room. N
