19
There’s a golden beam of light travelling across the landing.
Sunrise.
What time is it?
With both hands still clutching the door handle, I manage to check the time on my watch. 6:03 A.M.
On my knees, my head thrashing, I listen out for signs of life through Thea’s door. Haven’t heard anything for about an hour. That’s when she stopped trying to rip the door off its hinges.
She must be sleeping by now.
I thought about calling someone—even the police at one point during the night. But that’s not going to happen. Not a chance in hell. They’d kill her, without a second thought—thirteen or not. Calling Mum or Kate crossed my mind, too, but the idea of confessing sends a shudder of loathing through me.
No, I’m her mother, and this is my mess, my problem. I’ll fix it—as I always do. Th
