Before I start Read my other books please !!!!!!!!
chapter 1. Eleven years ago.
A couple things made that day stand out more than any other: it was my 6th birthday, and my step mother was holding a knife. Not a tiny steak knife, but some kind of a massive butcher knife glinting in the light like a bad horror movie. She defintenly wanted to kill me.
I try to think of the days that led up to that one to see if I missed something about her, but I have no memory of her before then. I have some memories of my childhood, and I can even remember my dad, who died when I was five, but not her.
when I ask my brother, matt, about her, he always anwsers with things like, '' shes batshit, wendy. that's all you need to know. hes 7 years older than I am, so he remembers things better, but he never want to talk about it. We lived in the hamptons when I was a kid, and my mother was a lady of leisure. She'd hired a live-in nanny to deal with me, but the night before my birthday the nanny had left for a family emergancy.
my mother was in charge of me, for the first time in her life, and neither of us was happy. I didnt even want the party. I liked gifts, But I didnt have any friends. The people coming to the party were my mothers friends and their snobby little kids. She had planned some kind of a princess tea party that I didnt want, but matt and our maid spent all moring setting it up anyway.
by the time the guests arrived, i'd already had ripped off my shoes and plucked the bows from my hair. my mother came down in thr middle of opening gifts, surveying the scence with her icy blue eyes.
Her blonde hair had been smoothed back, and she had on bright red lipstick that only made her appear paler.
I complained about every Single gitf I got, they were all dolls and ponies or some other thing I would never play with.
my mother came into the room, stealthingly gliding through the guests to where I sat. I had torn through a box wrapped in pink teddy bear, containing yet another porcelain doll. Instead of showing any graritude, I started yelling about what a stupid present it was.
before I could finish she slapped me sharply across this face.
'' you are not my daughter'' my mother said, to voice cold.
my cheek stung from where she had hit me, and I gasped at her.
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