Alana

My hands are cold and there is a growing pit in my stomach that threatens to snarl me at any moment but I am trying my hardest to fight it off.

But then, looking at how my own family who abused me since I was a child bowing before me made me feel something.

Is it satisfaction I am feeling? Dread for what’s to come or just simply an anticipation?

I don’t know. All I know is that with each step I take towards the gated mansion that used to hold the most traumatic years of my life, the urge to run has never gotten this stronger.

“Stand straight!...