10
I transferred Amy to Claire’s prestigious high
school, but into a different class. Days were
filled with academics, evenings and weekends
with piano practice.
Bright and dedicated, Amy quickly caught up
despite the months out of school. She
practiced tirelessly, often sneaking into the
piano room late at night, playing silently so as
not to disturb me.
Her playing quickly surpassed Claire’s level
from the previous competition. Her grades
soared, reaching the top ten within two
months. Even if she didn’t win the
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competition and the conservatory scholarship,
she was on track for a top university.
After midterms, I waited outside the school to
take Amy out for celebratory barbeque.
I didn’t see Amy, but I did see Claire.
She’d gained weight, her skin blotchy and
greasy. She was munching on a bag of chips.
I’d always cooked healthy meals, which she’d deemed “disgusting,” preferring greasy
takeout and junk food. Now, without my
supervision, this was the result.
Oh well. Live and let live.
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I intended to ignore her, but she approached
- me.
She looked surprised to see my
transformation, but still frowned. “What are
you doing here?”
“You promised Dad you’d leave me alone!
Don’t you remember?”
“Are you regretting abandoning me? Well, I
don’t belong to you anymore. You can’t
control me.”
“I’m not waiting for you,” I replied calmly.
She scoffed. “Liar. Who else would you be
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دو
waiting for? Just admit you want to see me.‘
“If you’re honest and give me an extra $500
a month allowance, maybe I’ll consider
coming back with you.”
Her words confirmed my suspicions. Life with John wasn’t as rosy as she’d imagined. Too
proud to beg me to take her back, she
resorted to these pathetic attempts at
manipulation.
Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t playing that
game.
“Too expensive. I can’t afford you.
دو
く
She haggled. “$300? $300 is fine. You used
to spend more than that on those stupid
piano lessons.”
Stupid piano lessons? The opportunity Amy
craved was worthless to her.
Before I could reply, a man’s voice boomed
from behind.
“Who the hell are you talking to, you little
bitch?”
A man shoved me aside roughly, his face
contorted with anger. He reeked of
cigarettes, his greasy, unwashed hair a mess
of tangles and dandruff. His clothes were
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ripped and stained with cigarette burns. He
looked like trouble.
He grabbed Claire’s wrist. “Didn’t I tell you to
come straight to the car after school? Are
you itching for a beating? Is that what it takes
to make you behave?”
I glimpsed bruises on Claire’s wrist, peeking
out from under her sleeve.
Claire trembled as he spoke, the tell–tale
signs of someone living with an abuser.
She stumbled a few steps, then stopped,
turning to me. “Mom! I… I want to come
home!”
