Now comes a memory of John. Being with John. Two young parents with an unruly toddler. Just one precious child in our perfect little family. His love for her bounded past his love for me, but I didn’t mind. It made me love him even more, watching him love our child. When she scowled at us over something that displeased her, having to go to bed or not getting more cookies, his laughter was so big he would have to flee the room to stifle it, leaving me to swallow mine while I talked her through it.

These memories come every day now. Memories of my family. My love for them. I don’t know if they come because I am finally being punished for what I have done. Or if they come because I spend my days with Alice, in the mind of a nine-year-old girl.

They leave me with the residue which I cannot identify.

In this moment, I decide that I like it. Its sticky sweetness covers the thoughts of the log in the fireplace and Nicole’s angry words and Evan’s eyes, turning away.

Alice takes the dolls and leaves.

“I’m not bringing you any lunch!” she says.

“Alice,” I call after her. “Please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

My voice is calm. I don’t care about lunch. I may be a prisoner, but I am not an animal. I am not one of John’s dogs waiting in the kitchen for my bowl to be filled. I will not beg. I would sooner starve.

This defiance is another thing that is unfamiliar, but has become a part of me.

Bring it, I think now. Bring on the punishment. The angry little prison guard. The starvation.

I go to my bed and lie down. I begin to think about my next move, the next game I will play and how I will be less obvious. I think that maybe I will watch her shows with her so I can laugh and comment in places that will provoke the same thoughts—recognition that she, too, is a prisoner. And that I am her only way out.

But then she returns. I hear the latch turn on the small panel of the metal grate and the tray scrape the floor as she slides it to my side.

“Here!” she says. “Don’t say I didn’t do you any favors.”

She learned that expression from a TV show and I continue the thoughts of my new plan even as I get up from the bed and walk back to the doorway.

I sit before her.

She has made me a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk.

“Thank you, Alice,” I say. “You are very kind.”

“Eat it,” she commands. And I do as I am told. I do not mind this small humiliation.