"Agatha is just a little dog you once took in. I'm not going to get jealous over a dog."
Ernest swung toward me. "Hear that? See how generous Maggie is? Thank her."
I said nothing. He came straight across the bathroom, grabbed my shoulders, and shook me. "Did you not hear me?"
My body was still raw from the miscarriage, every inch of me stabbed through with pain like needles driven into flesh.
When he shook me, I felt like my bones were about to snap apart.
Through the agony, I forced two words out between clenched teeth. "Thank you."
That finally satisfied him. He dropped me back into the blood and walked out.
I lay on the cold tile, tears streaming down my face without stopping.
I'd always known I was adopted.
My adoptive parents had never been kind. They hit me, screamed at me, barely fed me.
Ernest was the one who saw how bad it was. Every day he brought food to school and made me eat with him, quietly, like it was nothing.
Some of the crueler kids caught on. They circled me, chanting: *Beggar. Beggar.*
Ernest was the one who stepped in front of me and beat them off.
Once, I broke a plate while washing dishes at home.