Chapter 3

I lay there for a long time after Mrs. Henderson left.

The weight of the last fifteen years, the ones I' d already lived, pressed down on me.

Dropping out of community college, the only one from my holler to even get that far.

The ache in my back from double shifts at the diner, the smell of grease clinging to my hair.

Scrubbing toilets at the motel on weekends, my hands raw and red.

All for Billy-Joe.

To make sure he had food, clothes, a chance to play football, to get that scholarship.

He' d been ungrateful, always demanding more, siding with Earl and Sue-Ellen in every small argument before they "died."

I remembered the hunger pangs I' d ignored so he could have seconds.

The shoes I wore until the soles flapped, so he could have new cleats.

The dreams I' d carefully folded and put away, telling myself "someday."

Earl and Sue-Ellen. They' d faked their deaths, swapped me for Tiffany, and left me to raise their son, Billy-Joe.

Then, when he was successful, when I was no longer "useful," they' d had me killed.

The memory was vivid, brutal.

The cold fury from before, it was still there, but now it was focused, sharp as a razor.

They thought I was a tool, easily discarded.

They were wrong.

This time, things would be different.

This time, I wouldn't be their victim.

I would be the one pulling the strings.

The thought didn't bring satisfaction, not yet. It brought a grim resolve.

They had taken my life once.

They wouldn't get the chance to do it again.

And they would pay for what they did. Every last one of them.