There was no sound. There was no air in the room. There was only the harsh, sickening reality of what I was witnessing, freezing the blood in my veins.
I stood in the doorway of my mother’s bedroom, my hand resting against the doorframe just to keep myself upright.
My mother, the woman who had scrubbed floors until her knuckles bled so I could have school clothes, was on her hands and knees.
She was crying silently, her frail shoulders shaking as she desperately shoved her few worldly possessions into a cheap, black plastic trash bag.
Standing above her was Chloe.
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