Chapter 3

When I finally came to, I was lying in a hospital bed with an IV drip in my arm.

I could hear the doctor laying into Charles. "What kind of parenting is this? Kids will overeat. They don't know any better. But you? Did you even see how much your daughter ate tonight? An adult would have trouble with that portion. She's just a tiny kid. How could you let her eat that much?"

The doctor shot a look at his wrist and let out a sigh. "Go get that wrist patched up. Your kid's watching. Don't let her see you like this. Whatever it is, you'll get through it."

Charles, the man who was always in command, was just standing there, his head down, taking the scolding like a schoolboy.

For once, his face finally looked a little alive instead of dead inside.

I threw up a few more times that night.

Charles ran himself ragged taking care of me. In the end, he was so wiped out that he just slumped over the edge of my bed and dozed off.

I looked at his tired face as he slept, and my heart swelled with bittersweet warmth.

In my previous life, I was Emily Carter. My dad was a gambling addict and a drunk.

My mom couldn't take it anymore, so she ditched me and ran off with my newborn baby brother.

Everyone knew she took him just to spite my dad.

Back then, my dad had doted on him like a treasure.

Yet he sent my two younger sisters away, one after the other, and never looked back.

My mother had stolen his favorite child—making his own flesh and blood call another man "Dad." That was the final, crushing defeat.

In that old-fashioned, backwater village, my dad was the laughingstock of everyone.

I was the one who got all his rage, every single time. Whenever he got pissed, I was his personal punching bag.

The worst time, he beat me half to death and left me out in the pouring rain.

I think he only stopped because he was afraid I'd die before he could sell me off. Otherwise, he might have just finished the job.

Later, he tried to marry me to some creepy, old guy in the village, just to get rid of me.

I fought tooth and nail to get away.

Desperate, I lied about my age and got a job at a factory. I worked my hands raw for months. But when the boss found out how young I really was, he refused to pay me. He said I owed him for the trouble.

In the end, I collapsed from malnutrition right there on the factory floor and died on the spot.

Turns out, eating too much can really make you puke. Who knew?

And so this was what it felt like to have someone actually worry about me.

My eyes lingered on Charles' freshly bandaged wrist. I lowered my voice and said, "Dad, goodnight."

When Charles woke up, I was busy slapping stickers everywhere, my little hands flying all over the place.

Charles stared at the cute sticker on his bandaged wrist, his gaze freezing for a moment.

Simon stood off to the side, his face pale with panic, frantically trying to cover for me. "She's just playing. Kids love stickers. You know how it is."

I stuck another Peppa Pig sticker on Charles' bandage. "Daddy, stickers make the ouchies go away."

Charles awkwardly patted my head. "Thanks."

Simon was so shocked, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

The comments lit up with excitement.

[Aww, this kid is adorable. Mwah, I wanna give her a kiss.]

[See? Keeping him busy works. He was so exhausted yesterday that he just crashed. No energy left for dark thoughts.]

[Baby's a hero!]

*****

After I got out of the hospital, Charles gave me a name—Jocelyn Foster.

Before I could even get excited, Simon jumped in with a well-meaning suggestion.

"Mr. Foster, she's just the right age for kindergarten," he said.

Charles glanced at me, this clingy little sidekick, and seemed to see a solution. "Handle it. Make it quick."

I only stuck to him and pestered him to keep him from doing something stupid. Gotta keep him busy, right? But did he really have to be so eager to get rid of me?

I clenched my teeth, grabbed the stuffed toy Simon had given me, and hugged it tight, then looked up at Charles with big, hopeful eyes.

I said, "Simon bought me this doll, but Daddy, you'll buy me lots more, right?"

Simon's face went ghostly pale, and he stammered, "Uh, Ms. Foster, perhaps I could just take that one back for now?"