The trampled marriage certificate lay at Evelyn's feet, a muddy heel print marring what was meant to be my salvation. I didn't see her pick it up, but the damage was done. I was already running, tears blurring my vision as I pushed through the nearest exit.
Cool evening air hit my face as I stumbled into the garden behind the venue. A decorative lake glittered under the moonlight, its surface rippling gently. I made my way to a stone bench overlooking the water and collapsed onto it, finally letting the sobs escape.
Mrs. Johnson's slap replayed in my mind. Not because it hurt physically—she'd barely used any force—but because in all my years of abuse, all my years of suffering at Ivy's hands, Evelyn had been my only light. She'd been the one to slip me extra food when Ivy starved me, to secretly tend to my wounds when Ivy's "discipline" left marks, to whisper encouragements when everyone else told me I was worthless.
