Page 1 of Broken Skulls

Prologue

Elizabeth

My parents sit across from me, eerily quiet. Their gaze bounces around the room to avoid mine.

I’ve sat in silence for the past six years. If they think I’ll speak first, they are truly delusional.

The clock on the wall ticks in a steady rhythm with my heart. It feels good to hear something other than the noises of the dreaded place I broke free from. Not that I was a prisoner there. Not in the physical.

There is no more secure prison than your mind.

The shadow of the vase in the middle of my parent’s dining table shifts as the day moves quietly along. Finally, my father raises his brow and looks at me. Really looks at me.

“Was the baby his?” he asks.

My mother slowly turns her head to stare at the side of his face. Horror begins to tug at her features. I guess the thought had never occurred to her. The woman is truly dull.

“No.” I rap my knuckles lightly over the table, slightly annoyed he hadn’t bothered to ask until now.

My father huffs. He believes Dr. Williams is the father. That’s okay. It doesn’t matter what he believes. I’m the only person left in this world who knows who her biological father is. Soon, there will be no one.

I stand up. “I’ll be right back.”

Walking into the kitchen, it looks exactly like I remember it. It’s strange to be back, staring into the refrigerator like I used to as a teenager. I reach in and wrap my hand around a cold soda. After closing the door, I notice a water-colored painting pinned to the front by a gaudyWelcome to Floridamagnet.

Slowly, I slide the picture from under it, hugging the beautiful work of art to my chest. I slam my eyes shut, struggling to keep my emotions stuffed inside.

My fingers dance over the dragonfly hanging around my neck. This is a sign that I’m doing the right thing. Although no one would believe me, I’ve always tried to do the right thing.

When I’m certain I’ve gained my composure, I walk back to the dining room. My parents remain stoically where I left them.

I sit down, placing the painting in front of me. My mother lets out a little sob.

“You know where she’s at?” I ask.

“Her parents keep us up to date.” My father nods toward the watercolor of the dragonfly. “That’s been on the fridge for many years,” he finishes quietly.

The moisture leaves my mouth, but I manage to swallow hard before speaking.

That was not the deal. Neither of them, nor I, were to ever have contact after the day I handed her to her new parents. It was my one request, and I had good reason for it.

“I want to see her,” I finally say.

They stare at each other for a long moment. When they don’t say anything, I try again. “I just need one look. I won’t let myself be known.”

“On one condition …” He pauses.

“Whatever it is. I’ll do it.”

“You never come back here.”

The air leaves my lungs. I had no plan to ever return, but hearing my father admit out loud he never wants to see me again hurts more than it should.

It’s all worth it. For her.

“Consider me gone.”

My mother grasps at his shirt sleeve as he stands. Her brow is pulled tight with reluctance.

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