I stiffen. I want to fight back, defend myself. But I can feel the old ways slipping back through my pores.
You never spoke back to your elders, especially not your parents. A part of me is still trapped in the girl they molded me to be.
“I… I’m sorry, Papa,” I say, looking down. “I don’t know what happened that night. I can’t remember—”
“That’s convenient,” Mama snaps without any sympathy.
Neither one of them has asked me for my story. Not that I’d be able to tell them, but still.
Shouldn’t they want to know?
Shouldn’t they care?
“I am sorry,” I tell them. “I never meant to do what I did. I was just scared and… and—”
“You have to go,” Mama says, cutting me off. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”
“Here in the Sanctuary?” I ask. “Or in your house?”
“Both,” Papa intones with finali
