She never wanted what she got. And she especially didn’t want it for me. I was their only daughter. She used to call me her second life.

Don’t think of us, I remembered. Do not—

“Here you go.” A glass of wine so clear it almost looked like water was dangling in front of me and I took it from the waitress’s streaky tan hand quickly, nodding a thank-you I couldn’t quite get out of my mouth.

At least, I like to think my mother would be proud. But part of me wonders if she’s even still alive. If she received the brunt of the repercussions when I never came home. Someone had to, and my father would absolutely assume a female conspiracy. I haven’t talked to them since the day I left for school. Communication wasn’t exactly easy considering the only phone my family had was hidden around the house at my father’s will and used for emergencies only. But I could have tried—I could have called the church, asked them to send a message to my mom. I could have left messages on the phone, updated them on how I was doing, what classes I was taking. I could have told them about Ruthie.

But all of those things felt like an opportunity to be taken away; an excuse for my father to assume I was doing badly, making poor decisions, hanging out with the wrong people. It started to feel like the less I reminded my father that I was there, the more likely he’d forget about me entirely. Leave me alone. Let me get out.

So I never called. I never went home. I never spoke to them again.

Don’t think of us, my mother told me the day I was leaving for school. The last time I saw her. She had just put my necklace in my hand and told me to hide it in my bra until I was on campus, away from them, away from my father. Don’t think of us, she said, her eyes shining at me. Do not—

My father walked in then, barreling through the front door and into the creaky foyer, annoyed that I wasn’t sitting in the car waiting for him. Bringing me to school was an inconvenience. It meant he had to be sober enough to drive.

I never found out what my mother was going to say just then. Before she could finish, I was pulled by my hair to the loaded car and thrown into the passenger’s seat so hard I thought I might have bruised my hip.

Don’t think of us, she said. Then, after that? I like to think she was going to say do not come back.