Then I sat beside Emily and watched her drift toward sleep.
I’d never seen her look so exhausted.
So defeated.
And the worst part was knowing she’d felt this way inside the home that was supposed to protect her.
As I adjusted her pillow, I noticed a small notebook partly hidden beneath it.
Emily quickly reached for it.
“It’s nothing.”
I looked at her.
“Emily.”
Tears filled her eyes.
Finally, she handed it over.
“I started writing things down,” she whispered. “Not because I wanted revenge. I just needed proof that I wasn’t imagining it.”
My stomach tightened.
I opened the notebook.
Monday, 9:30 p.m.
Teresa said pregnancy isn’t an illness.
Tuesday, 11:15 p.m.
Brittany recorded me washing dishes and said I looked like a maid.
Thursday, 8:40 p.m.
Kayla took my chair and said laziness makes people fat.
