I sat on the bed, my face buried in my palms as I cried my eyes out, my shoulders trembling violently with every broken sob that escaped my lips. The room felt suffocatingly silent except for the sound of my cries bouncing weakly off the walls.
Why do bad things keep happening to me? Why?
I didn't do it. I would never.
I cried harder, knowing that no matter how much I explained or pleaded, no one would listen — not even Mr. Cross.
Everything dragged me back to my past. Back to my mother. She never listened whenever I told her I hadn't taken the dolls Dad bought for me. He always brought them home with a smile, hoping to make me happy, but she once he had left, she never allowed me touch any of them. She would hide them away in places I couldn't even reach, and whenever she forgot where she kept them, she blamed me instead.
