I did not look back when we left Victoria’s house. Not even when the cold air hit my face or when the door clicked shut behind us. I was scared that if I did, I might hesitate. The doubts would creep in, and I would go back home and pretend none of this was real.
How could it be real?
My father was a liar, a stranger to me. He didn't care about my mother or me.
He was greedy, a monster that I didn't know. Not really.
Just like my evil stepsister and stepmother.
None of them gave a damn about me. They had treated me like rubbish, like a servant who was worthless to them. They hated to see me with anything good; they wanted what was supposed to be mine.
Victoria walked a few feet in front of me with such certainty and confidence. She was the only person that I could really trust.
