Alice has killed my chance to escape. She has done it over her frivolous hatred of lime-flavored things and she has done it in a way that demonstrates the extent of her hatred.

It does not matter that in any other set of circumstances I would not care about her actions. It does not matter that she did it without knowing what her actions would cost me.

I find this all ironic. How her hatred of lime-flavored things has caused me to feel hatred for her. Truly feel it for the first time, in depths that are beyond the reach of my ability to pull them back. The hatred is deep inside my bones. Inside my mind. Inside my heart.

I am too tired to reach for it. Too tired to fight it. I hate a child.

It is hard to think straight. I had a plan which is now gone. New plans swim and swirl, but there are too many unknowns.

I do not know where we are, and what is beyond that fence. I do not know how far away he is, and whether he could get to me while I run there, back to the hole and the tools I left beneath the dead leaves.

I don’t even know if the tools are still there. And yet, I could get another knife from the kitchen. Maybe there are more scissors as well.

I think through the steps. I would have to convince Alice to open the grate. I would have to find the boots, maybe a coat. The air is still cold at night. I could run through the woods this time, in the direction of the fence to the right side of the driveway, not down the driveway. But then—what if I overshoot the place where I cut the fence and hid the tools? I could just make a new hole.

No, no, no.

This plan will not work unless I can be sure he’s far enough away. He will see me leave. He will know.

I can’t go back to that dark room. I can’t go wherever Daisy Alice Hollander has gone.

I have to stay and be a good second mommy to one child to protect another—my daughter. To protect Nicole.

I fight to keep my face calm, though the tears fall down my cheeks and into the pillow around my ear.

Stillness brings chaos inside my mind.

Nicole.

You used to be a glorious warrior. That was how I saw you, though I never said it. I didn’t want you to become something simply because I put the image in your head. Parents do that all the time. My mother did that to me.

You’re a smart girl, Molly. Not the prettiest girl, but smart. You need to use that to get ahead of the other girls who have their looks.