Chapter 3

Viola stood in front of the small mirror in her bedroom, her fingers gently touching her jaw.

Yesterday, right after her mother’s hand had cracked across her face, she had run to the bathroom and desperately covered the angry red mark with cheap foundation. Now, with the makeup washed off, a faint, yellowish-blue bruise stained her pale skin.

A quiet, sad laugh left her lips. Her mother went to church every single day, praying to God to keep sinners and filth away from their family, yet she never hesitated to strike her youngest daughter.

Viola had never worn a short dress in her life. But the exact second Vanessa said she had found that cheap red dress in Viola’s closet, her mother believed it blindly. No questions. No chance to speak. Vanessa could parade around the house in short, tight dresses all day and be called flawless. Viola was always the filthy sinner.