Chapter 4

Grace's POV

I made it downstairs somehow. I needed food. Something to settle my stomach and make the nausea go away.

The pain came out of nowhere before I even reached the kitchen.

This sharp twisting sensation grabbed hold of my abdomen and wouldn't let go. I had to grip the back of the couch just to stay upright. But it kept getting worse, wave after wave of it.

I ended up collapsing onto the couch, curling into myself while cold sweat broke out all over my skin. My whole body wouldn't stop shaking.

"Grace?" Emily appeared above me, her face going pale. "Oh my God, Grace, what's wrong?"

Her hands landed on my shoulder. "You look terrible. We need to get you to a hospital right now."

"No." I shook my head even though it made everything spin. "It's just my stomach acting up. Old problem. I'll be fine in a minute."

"You're literally shaking and your face is white as a sheet and you think you're fine?"

"Emily, please." I pressed my hand harder against my stomach, trying to breathe through the pain. "Just let me rest for a bit."

She stayed there next to me, hovering and uncertain. I kept my eyes squeezed shut and tried to focus on breathing.

The front door opened.

"We're home!" Mom's voice floated down the hallway.

I heard them walk in. Heard them stop dead.

"Grace?" Mom's tone changed. "What on earth happened?"

I tried to sit up but my body refused to cooperate. Everything hurt too much.

Dad came over and stood in front of me. His face had gone completely rigid. "Grace. Sister from church told us something very interesting last week. She said people have been seeing you around town. With different men. Going in and out of their houses. Acting intimate with them."

The whole room seemed to shift sideways.

"That's not what—"

"Look at yourself!" Mom suddenly shouted. "You're skin and bones! You throw up constantly! Your face is the color of death!"

"Because I'm sick! I have—"

"We know what you have. AIDS." Dad's voice dripped with so much disgust. "The church sisters don't lie, Grace. Different men. Different houses. And now look at you. The symptoms are obvious."

My throat went tight. Oh God. They think I have AIDS. They actually think I've been sleeping around and caught AIDS.

"I was working!" The words exploded out of me. "Those men were my employers! I've been working three different jobs trying to save up money for college!"

"Still lying to our faces." Dad took a step closer. "Even now, caught red-handed, you're still making up stories."

"I'm not lying!" I could feel tears running down my face. "The diner during the day. Cleaning people's houses at night. Delivery service on the weekends. That's who those men were! They were customers and clients, not whatever disgusting thing you're imagining!"

"You make me sick." Mom's voice broke into pieces. "All this time we thought you were a good daughter. We believed in you."

"I am! I've been trying so hard—"

"You've been selling yourself!" Dad's voice filled the entire room, shaking the walls. "And you brought your filthy sin into this house! Into God's house!"

"It's not what you think!" I was screaming now, desperate for them to just listen for one second.

"Liar!" Mom shrieked. "You stand there and lie even now!"

"I'm not lying!"

Dad's face twisted with rage. "We know what disease comes from that lifestyle. Don't insult us with your made-up stories."

But they weren't listening. Mom was crying. Dad's face had gone bright red with rage. Nothing I said mattered anymore.

"You've destroyed this family's reputation." Mom was sobbing so hard she could barely get the words out. "The church will find out about this. Everyone will know. What about Emily? How is she supposed to hold her head up in this community after what you've done?"

"This has nothing to do with Emily!"

"Everything has to do with Emily!" Dad shouted. "She's fragile! Her health has always been delicate! And you bring this kind of shame to our doorstep!"

They're never going to believe me. The realization hit me all at once. Nothing I say will matter. They've already made up their minds about what I am.

I looked at my parents' faces twisted with anger and disgust. At Emily frozen on the stairs with her hand over her mouth.

"You've disappointed God." Dad's voice went quiet again, "You've disappointed this entire family. You've put your sister's entire future at risk."

"I didn't do anything wrong—"

"I can't even stand to look at you right now." Mom turned her back on me. "After everything we sacrificed to raise you."

"Sacrificed?" The word tasted bitter in my mouth. "You never sacrificed a damn thing for me."

"How dare you speak to us that way." Dad moved toward me. "We fed you. We clothed you. We put a roof over your head."

"You gave Emily everything!" Something inside me snapped and I couldn't hold it back anymore. "I was eight years old when you made me kneel on the kitchen floor for an hour because I spilled milk! Emily spills milk and you comfort her! I work myself to death at three jobs and you accuse me of prostitution!"

"That's enough." Dad walked to the front door and pulled it open. "You need to leave this house."

"What are you talking about?"

"Leave. Right now." His hand gripped the doorknob so hard his knuckles turned white. "For the sake of the church's reputation. For Emily's future. You need to get out. Now."

I looked down at what I was wearing. Pajamas and nothing else. No shoes on my feet. No phone in my pocket. No money. No keys. Nothing.

"I don't even have shoes—"

"You don't deserve anything from this house." Mom said. "You made your choices. Now live with them."

"Mom, please, just let me—"

"Now, Grace."

"Grace!" Emily's voice broke as she started down the stairs, but Mom grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

"Stay right there, Emily."

"But Mom, she doesn't even have shoes! She can't just—"

"I said stay there!" Mom pulled Emily back so hard she stumbled. "This is her own fault. She brought this on herself."

I looked at my little sister standing there with tears streaming down her face. At her mouth opening to protest again, to try to defend me one more time.

"Emily." I had to force the word out. "It's okay."

"It's not okay!" She was full-on crying now. "You can't just throw her out like this! Grace, please—"

"Go to your room right now." Mom's fingers dug into Emily's arm. "This doesn't concern you."

"She's my sister!"

"She's not your concern anymore." Dad's voice cut through everything. "Grace. Get out."

I walked to the door in my bare feet and thin pajamas with absolutely nothing to my name.

Behind me I could hear Emily sobbing. "Please don't do this to her. She's sick. She needs help. She needs—"

"Go to your room now! I mean it, Emily!"

I stepped out into the night. The concrete was freezing cold against my bare feet.

The door slammed shut behind me. I heard the lock slide into place with a final click.

I stood there shivering for a minute, trying to figure out what to do. Where am I supposed to go like this?

The wind cut right through my pajamas like they weren't even there. I wrapped my arms around myself and started walking, not really knowing where I was going. Just away from here.

By the time I found the bridge, my feet had gone completely numb. There was space underneath it, tucked away from the street where nobody would see. At least it was dry down here. At least the wind couldn't reach me as badly.

I crawled into the corner and pulled my knees up tight against my chest.

Tomorrow morning I'll go back. I rocked back and forth a little, trying to generate some warmth. I'll go to the hospital first thing. I'll get a copy of the diagnosis report with everything written out clearly. Then I'll take it home and show them. They'll understand once they see the official paperwork. They'll have to believe me then.

They'll apologize. Mom will cry and say she's sorry. Dad will feel terrible. They'll bring me back home and take care of me. Everything will be okay once they see the proof.