Chapter 4 - The Left Boot
I started hiding money.
Loose quarters, birthday cash, and ten-dollar bills earned from babysitting, which I tucked inside a paperback copy of Jane Eyre because Jessica never touched books.
I created a secret email account at the public library and took small freelance graphic design jobs online.
I bought a prepaid flip phone from Walmart using cash and hid it in my closet.
Inside an old leather boot.
The left boot, underneath the padded insole.
I also stopped swallowing the pills. I tucked them under my tongue, wrapped them in paper, and flushed them down the toilet later.
Slowly, the fog cleared from my mind.
I began writing everything down in a small black notebook—dates, times, exact phrases my mother used, and the sudden shifts from her public smile to her private venom. Documentation became my religion.
When I turned twenty, I was accepted into a state university two hours away on a full scholarship.
My mother had wanted me to attend a local religious college. At dinner, when I slid the state acceptance letter across the table, my mother’s jaw tightened.
“No,” she said simply.
“That wasn’t a question,” I replied.
“If you walk out that door, don’t expect to come back.”
I looked at the staged family portraits on the dining room wall and Jessica smirking across the table.
May you like
“Great,” I said. “One less key to carry.”
I packed my bags that night and left.
