Chapter 16 — The Fresh Rolls

For the next week, Hannah and I stayed in my father’s old study in the main house, and I watched, up close, the shape of what my sister had done to my daughter’s mind, and the slow beginning of its undoing.

She woke several times every night, each time to check that I was still sitting in the armchair beside her bed.

She ate her meals slowly, cautiously, and every single time, she stashed a bread roll under her pillow — the instinct of a child who has learned that the next meal is not guaranteed.