Chapter 4

The relentless work, the poor nutrition, the constant stress, it all started to take a visible toll.

I lost weight I couldn't afford to lose. Dark circles formed under my eyes.

My already thin frame became almost skeletal.

One sweltering July evening, after a particularly grueling shift, I was clearing the table after dinner.

Brenda was complaining about the cost of Kevin's upcoming senior year expenses.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit me. The room tilted.

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my abdomen, so intense it buckled my knees.

I gasped, clutching my stomach, and dropped the plates. They shattered on the floor.

"Clumsy oaf!" Brenda shrieked, jumping up. "Look what you've done! Those were my good plates!"

The pain intensified. I doubled over, nausea rising in my throat.

I managed to gasp, "My stomach... it hurts... really bad."

Brenda stared at me, her face contorted with suspicion.

"What's wrong with you now? Faking it to get out of cleaning up your mess?"

Then her eyes narrowed. "Are you pregnant? Is that it? Sneaking around with some boy?"

"No! Of course not!" The accusation was so vile, so reminiscent of her taunts in my past life, that it stole my breath.

"Or are you on drugs?" she continued, her voice dripping with malice. "Is that where your money's going? Not that you have any, since I take it all."

I started vomiting, a thin, acidic bile. The pain was unbearable. I collapsed onto the kitchen floor, curling into a ball.

"Mom, please," I begged, "I need a doctor."

"Doctor? You think we have money for doctors every time you get a little tummy ache?" she scoffed.

David walked in, drawn by the noise. He looked at me on the floor, then at the broken plates, his expression one of mild irritation.

"What's all this?"

"She says she's sick," Brenda said dismissively. "Probably just wants attention."

But as I continued to writhe and moan, even David started to look a little uneasy. My skin was clammy, my breathing shallow.

"Maybe... maybe she really is sick, Brenda," he said, a rare note of uncertainty in his voice.

Brenda glared at me. "Fine. But if this is nothing, you're paying for the doctor's visit and those plates out of your non-existent earnings for the next year."

The drive to the ER was agony. Every bump in the road sent jolts of pain through me.

Brenda sat in the passenger seat, muttering about how inconvenient this was, how I was probably faking, how ungrateful I was.

She even told the triage nurse I was a "troubled girl" prone to "dramatics" and "probably seeking drugs."

I was too weak to defend myself.

I just prayed someone would help me.

The ER was chaotic, but a nurse, Emily, saw me quickly. Her kind eyes registered my emaciated state, the fear in my own.

After a quick examination and some tests, the doctor looked grave.

"She has a severe gastrointestinal infection, likely from contaminated food, and she's suffering from severe malnutrition and dehydration. We need to admit her immediately."

Malnutrition. The word hung in the air.

Nurse Emily was gentle as she started an IV. She noticed the old, faded bruises on my arms, the fresh ones on my face from Brenda' s earlier attack over the door.

Her expression tightened.

"Sarah," she said softly, when Brenda had stepped away to argue with an admissions clerk about insurance, "are you safe at home?"

Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn't speak, just shook my head mutely.

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm going to make a call."

Later, as I drifted in a painkiller-induced haze, I vaguely heard a new voice in the room. Stern, official.

Officer Miller.

He was speaking to Brenda and David, his tone low but firm.

Words like "neglect," "child abuse," "legal consequences," "investigation" floated through my consciousness.

David, suddenly pale, was all apologies and feigned concern. "Officer, we had no idea it was this serious. We love our daughter. We'll take better care of her, I promise."

Brenda was silent, her face a thundercloud.

I closed my eyes, a tiny spark of something I hadn't felt in a long time flickering within me.

Not hope, not yet. But maybe, just maybe, a chance.