Every callous word they spoke over my bed cut one more thread that had bound me to them, until, by the time they laughed and left, I was no longer their daughter or their sister or their meal ticket.

I was simply a witness with a perfect memory and a plan, waiting for a finger to move.

Chapter 7 — The Finger

For hours I put everything I had into my right hand. Move. Nothing. Move. Nothing.

And then, at last, the faintest brush of one fingertip against the sheet.

The night nurse — Rocio — was checking my IV when she saw it.