It would take me months of fresh bowls, morning after morning, to teach her body what my words could not: that in her father’s house, she did not have to earn the right to eat, because she did not have to earn the right to exist.

Chapter 7 — The Brooch

Veronica came into the kitchen and demanded that Hannah return to the maid’s quarters behind the garage.

When I refused, she pivoted, claiming that Hannah had stolen our mother’s gold heirloom brooch six months earlier, and that the barn had been her punishment.

“I didn’t take it,” Hannah whispered, ducking behind my leg.

“I saw Aunt Veronica wearing it on her dress at her birthday party.”

My sister’s face went pale for a fraction of a second.