The Unforgiving World

The scream died in my throat, a ghost of a sound from a life already lost. My eyes snapped open to weak autumn sunlight filtering through bedroom curtains.

Michael, my husband, slept beside me, his breathing even. Down the hall, Lily, my five-year-old, would soon be stirring, ready for cartoons and pancakes. It was a normal morning, but the memories, the ice-cold dread, they weren't a dream.

It was a terrifying premonition: a monstrous blizzard, Lily's small, still face, Michael's broken body in the snow. I saw the snarling faces of Frank, Brenda, Billy, and Jimmy, their greedy eyes scanning our home.

And then, the ultimate betrayal: Jessie. My adopted daughter, Jessie, siding with them, facilitating their violence, celebrating their victory over our family.