Chapter 3

3. When I was eleven, my widowed mother struggled to keep food on the table. She ended up sleeping with a widower from down the street.

There was no marriage, no ceremony, but she made me call him father. He wasn't rich, and he saw me as a burden.

He told my mother he could only afford to keep one of us. So, they hatched a plan to sell me to a man with some very sick habits.

On the day the old man came to collect me, he wanted to “inspect the goods.” My mother locked me in the back room.

“Rainie, just be a good girl. After this is over, I’ll cook you some real meat for dinner...”

The old man tried to tear my clothes off. I screamed and kicked, pounding on the door for my mother to let me out.

But the door was held shut from the outside. I thought my life was over right then.

Suddenly, there was a massive crash. Someone had shoved my mother aside and kicked the door open.

A tall girl stood in the doorway, framed by the light. She was holding a heavy iron fireplace poker.

“Get out!” she screamed at the old man. He scrambled away, half-dressed and terrified.

The widower tried to step in, his face red with rage. He raised his hand to hit her.

She didn't even flinch. She raised the iron poker, her eyes cold as ice.

“If you touch me, I’ll tell the whole town what you’re doing,” she hissed. “And I’ll cancel my engagement to the landlord’s son.”

The man spat on the ground and lowered his hand. “Fine! I’m already feeding one useless brat. I’m not feeding two!”

“Then I’ll feed her! From now on, she’s my sister. I’ll take care of her.”

She looked at my mother with pure disgust. “Don’t you ever touch her again.”

That was the day I lost a mother and found a sister. Her name was Summer.