The moment I stepped through the door, I saw that my mother had prepared a homecoming for me.

Balloons drifted across the living room.

At the center, ringed by more flowers than I could count, sat the newest phone and a dozen-odd limited-edition handbags.

Diamond necklaces covered the coffee table. A row of black cards lined up beside them, each one good for a fortune.

These were everything I used to dream of.

But three years had passed, and now they only struck me as a cruel joke.

The housekeeper held a confetti popper, ready to twist it open.

Then she caught the cold set of my mother's face and hesitated, leaving it untouched.

After a long while, I walked forward slowly and took only the phone.

My mother spoke, her voice cold.

"Still sulking, are you?"

"Then give all of this to Myrtle Fox. Let's see how long you can keep it up."

I lasted far longer than she ever imagined.

Two months went by. Every day I locked myself in my room.

The only time I came out was to eat.

When I was small, eating had been pure torture.

Because whether I was hungry or not, every dish the housekeeper made had to be finished.

Even a grain of rice that fell to the floor had to be picked up and eaten on the spot.

The rule held even when I was so full my stomach ached.

Back then I cried and threw fits. Once I simply couldn't swallow another bite.

I even talked back to my mother and slammed my bowl down right in front of her.

She took me straight to the country and put me to farm labor for half a year.

"Go see how farmers break their backs to grow their food. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Until you live it, you'll never understand."

My mother watched me, filthy and dripping with sweat, hauling a hoe, and her eyes were hard.

It hurt her to see it, but she waited for me to admit I was wrong.

I held out the full half year instead. Day after day of hardship, and I never bowed my head.

I was too young, in the end, for her to bear it, and she brought me home.

Now she thought I would dig in the same way.

But I ate carefully at every meal, finished everything on my plate, refused to waste a single grain.

In Fox Hollow, when others ate rice, I was given wild greens.

It wasn't that I had come around to my mother's thinking.

It was that I hadn't eaten a full meal in so very long.

She believed I had changed, and her manner toward me slowly warmed.

On the holiday, over the family dinner, I was carefully scraping up the last crumbs clinging to my plate.

My mother watched me with something close to pain.

"Irene, leave those. Look how thin you are. Eat more of the real food."

Myrtle's voice turned at once, all sour mockery.

"I think you're doing it on purpose, to make her feel sorry for you."

"You're playing the victim. Mom won't care."

I froze. In my ears I heard Noah's voice from the times he beat me.

"Two hits with the stick and you can't get up? Playing the victim?"

"Let me tell you, even if your mother knew she wouldn't care. She sent you here to suffer."

Myrtle's voice and Noah's seemed to fold into one.

The fear soaked into my bones came roaring up, prickling across my scalp, and something behind my eyes simply gave way, my whole body going cold and loose at once.

I dropped to my knees and began slamming my forehead to the floor in front of Myrtle, again and again.

The same words pouring out of me.

"Don't hit me, don't hit me. I won't ever do it again."

Myrtle jumped. My mother's face changed too, and she rushed to pull me up.

"Myrtle, call your private doctor. Find out whether something is really wrong with Irene's mind."

Myrtle took out her phone and went into the bedroom to make the call.

I shook and shook, curled into my mother's arms, my clothes soaked through with cold sweat.

She held me tight, the rims of her eyes gone red.

Half an hour later, Dr. Lawrence arrived.

He peeled back my eyelids, then took my pulse.

In the end he ruled there was nothing wrong with me.

"Mrs. Gilbert, your daughter's emotions are fine. This looks like an act."

"What?!"

Mother's face changed at once, and she shoved me away.

"Irene, are you ever going to stop?"

"I've put up with you for two months. Haven't you made enough of a scene?"

White-faced, I crumpled to the floor, one arm wrapped around my head, wishing I could sink into the ground.

Until Mother said coldly,

"Stop pretending. I don't have time for your tantrums."

"Tomorrow you're going to inspect our first project."

"You know the place well. It's Fox Hollow."

Ice flooded my chest, and the cold went straight to the bone.

Dr. Lawrence left.

I was locked in the bedroom.

I cried until my voice gave out, struck my head until it split.

I begged Mother not to send me back, but she might as well have been deaf.

The next day she opened the bedroom door, dragged me out, and pushed me into the car.

I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe, my body so far gone with fear it nearly let go beneath me.

On the road, past caring what happened to me, I wrenched the door open and flung myself out.

Mother panicked and braked at once.

The fall was bad. The pain in my leg bored straight through me, and I couldn't get back up.

There was nothing for her to do but take me to the hospital first.

In the car, Myrtle kept urging her,

"Call Dr. Lawrence. He's very good!"

Mother shook her head.

"The city hospital is closest from here. Irene can't even move her leg. We can't wait for Dr. Lawrence."

Then she turned to me.

"What a mess. What did I ever expect from you?"

"Get the leg seen to today, and tomorrow you make the trip again!"

I was in too much pain to speak, my nails digging into my palms.

Half an hour later they wheeled me into the ER.

Mother was still on the phone, explaining to the people in Fox Hollow, rescheduling the meeting.

Until the doctor came out, his face grave.

"Who's family to Irene Gilbert?"

My mother hung up fast.

"That's me, that's me!"

The doctor looked her up and down.

"You're her mother?"

"How have you been taking care of this child? Your daughter has level-two schizophrenia. Did you know that?"

My mother's eyes went wide with shock.

"She just hurt her leg. How could she…"

The doctor's tone was cold.

"There's nothing serious with her leg. But the psychological trauma is severe."

"Right now she won't say anything. If you want to know what she's been through, the only way is hypnosis."

"You should prepare yourself."

Mother's face froze, and she trailed after the doctor into the room, moving woodenly, like a sleepwalker.

I was lying on the bed, my eyes empty.

A pocket watch dropped into view.

The doctor asked slowly,

"Irene, why don't you want to go to Fox Hollow? What did you go through?"

My pupils widened, little by little.

Even under deep hypnosis, my voice would not stop shaking.

"I was raped…"