, she knelt down in front of me, he

, look

were bright, too br

tiny apartments. No more cheap food. Yo

ved her. I nodded, a

he came home from her second job, the lines around her eyes looking like tiny cracks. I wanted pretty dresses. I wanted a room of my own. I wanted my mother

d kitchen. Inside, everything shined. The floors were polished wood, the ceilings were high, and chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls. Peop

quiet memorial. A single, beautiful photograph of a woman with kind eyes sat in a silver frame, surrounded by white roses. Mr. Hayes' s first wife. Alex' s mother. I reached ou

ad turned towards me. My mother' s face went white,

nto my skin, and dragged me up the grand staircase. She shoved me in

n' t make a sound. You

and the lock turned.

roasted meat and sweet cakes. It made the hunger worse. I could hear the faint sound of music and laughter. My mother was down th

use grew silent. The hunger was a sharp pain now. I was so thirsty my tongue felt thic

ad slid under the crack, followed by a small bottle of water. I scram

ed to the crack under th

other side. It was a boy

t tha

pau

dog. And dogs n

knew then, with a certainty that had no place in a seven-year-old' s heart, that the gilded cage my mother ha