Then Evelyn yanked open the wooden door. The wind burst in like a furious animal, whipping the curtains and nearly snuffing out the lamp.
“One less mouth to feed,” she said.
And she threw me into the storm.
I hit the frozen mud and dirty snow of the yard on my back. The door slammed shut with a crack so sharp that years later I still heard it in my dreams. Somehow I got to my feet, clutching my burned arm to my chest. I cried the way I always cried—without sound. Tears fell, my body shook, but my throat stayed locked shut.
I knocked once. Then again.
No one answered.
Through a narrow gap, I saw warmth inside. Light. The shape of Evelyn moving past the stove. Heat that was not meant for me. And with the clean, cruel understanding children sometimes have, I knew that if I stayed there, I would die before morning.
So I started walking.
I had no shoes, only wet socks with holes in them. Snow bit into my feet. The wind sliced my face raw. My arm throbbed so fiercely it made me dizzy. I crossed the empty main road while the storm made the metal roofs groan. I passed the chapel, Mr. Parker’s store, the deserted square. That night, the town looked abandoned by God.
I wasn’t going anywhere. I was only going away.
Without thinking much, my legs carried me to the junkyard on the edge of town. I had been there before, gathering cardboard, cans, and rags Evelyn could sell for a few coins. Between piles of rusted metal, I found an old barrel tipped on its side. I crawled into it like a wounded animal into a den and curled around my arm.
The fever came before dawn.
On the first day, I thought Evelyn might regret it and come looking for me. On the second, I stopped thinking much at all. By the third, the cold no longer felt like cold. That was the most frightening part. My teeth no longer chattered. My feet no longer burned. It felt as if my body were slowly shutting down.
I remember the gray sky above the scrap piles. I remember the smell of rust, wet cardboard, and stray dogs. I remember thinking, with a clarity no seven-year-old should have, that I did not want to die without ever knowing what it felt like to have a real mother.