Chapter 3

I don't know how long I lay on the garage floor before I managed to crawl back into the house. Every movement was excruciating. My legs were numb and useless, and a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my ribs with every breath.

I found Ryan in the living room, watching cartoons. He looked up at me, his eyes still red from crying.

"Are you okay, Molly?" he asked, his small voice filled with concern.

I tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "I'm okay, Ry. Just tired."

I collapsed onto the rug, my body refusing to cooperate. The world tilted and spun.

A while later, Ryan came over and poked my shoulder. "I'm hungry," he said.

"Okay, buddy," I mumbled, my words slurring. "There's... there's mac and cheese in the pantry."

I watched in a dizzy haze as he pulled a stool over to the stove. He filled a pot with water and managed to turn on the burner. I knew I should get up, I knew I should help him, but my body was a prison.

"Be careful, Ryan," I managed to say.

He climbed onto the stool, reaching for the box of pasta on a high shelf. That's when it happened. The stool wobbled. He lost his balance.

His small hands flailed, knocking the pot. The boiling water cascaded down, splashing across his arm and chest.

A scream of pure agony ripped through the house. It was a sound I will never forget.

Adrenaline shot through me, overriding the pain. I crawled, dragging my useless legs across the floor. It felt like moving through wet cement. Ryan was on the floor, writhing and screaming, his skin an angry, blistering red.

I reached him, my hands shaking so badly I could barely function. "It's okay, Ryan, it's okay," I sobbed, though I knew it wasn't.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers fumbling with the screen. I managed to dial 911 just as the front door burst open.

My parents were back.

Debra took one look at Ryan, at the spilled water, at me on the floor beside him. Her face contorted into a mask of pure rage.

"What did you do?" she screamed, her voice inhuman.

She lunged at me. Before I could react, she grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the hardwood floor. Once. Twice.

"You did this!" she shrieked, her spittle hitting my face. "You hurt him! You did this on purpose!"

A sharp, metallic taste filled my mouth. The world went dark at the edges. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was my father's weak voice, "Debra, stop! The paramedics are here!"