Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I jerk away to stare at her. Her eyes are scrunched shut, and her face is greenish-white, twisted into a grimace as she clutches her mountainous belly. All of a sudden, I feel the way I do when Papa gets mad at me: all sick and shaky inside.
“Mama?” My voice goes higher. “Mama, are you going to die?”
She clenches her teeth and opens her eyes. Her voice still has that strange, strained quality to it. “No, no, darling. Just go get Papa, please. I think… I think it might be time.”
I scramble toward the edge of the bed, but the blanket tangles around my legs, slowing me down. I yank on it in frustration, partially pulling it off Mama. My hand touches something wet. Eww. She peed herself. Except when I lift my palm, it comes away pink and red. Red like blood. I leap off the bed, my heart like a moth in a jar, all beating wings and panic.
Papa. I need to get Papa.
Mama cries out again, and I throw a frantic glance over my shoulder as I sprint for the door. She’s still clutching her stomach, her face scrunched in pain.
Don’t die, Mama. Please don’t die.
I dash out of the bedroom and down the hallway, screaming for Papa at the top of my lungs. Sobs threaten to rip from my throat, but I swallow them down because Papa punishes me when I cry. He also punishes me when I enter his office without knocking, so I pound my fist against the closed door, ignoring the waves of pain it sends up my arm.
All I can think is that Mama might be dying.
“Not now! I’m busy.” Papa’s voice is gruff, annoyed. Normally, that would be enough for me to slink away and approach him another time, but this can’t wait.
“It’s Mama,” I yell, pounding harder. “She said to get you. Her bed is wet and red!”
The door opens inward so fast I lose my balance and fall in. Inside the office is Papa and a blond woman I don’t know. She’s naked and bent over his desk, her pale skin laced with pink welts of the kind I get after he belts me.
For a second, all I can do is stare at her from where I fell onto the floor. Papa clearly punished her, but why? Who is she? Why is she naked? He uses his belt on me through my clothes. Also, why are Papa’s pants unzipped?
Then I remember Mama, and panic swamps me again. I bounce to my feet as Papa utters a foul curse and zips his pants, then pushes past me and hurries down the hallway to the bedroom.
I spare the naked woman another lightning-fast glance—she’s on her feet now, her face all red—and run after Papa. I make it to the bedroom just as he lifts Mama off the bed. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and both of her hands are cupping her huge stomach, like she’s afraid it’s going to fall off. On the bed, more of the blanket has turned that awful red color, and so has the bottom of her white nightgown.
“Mama?”
She moans in reply. Ignoring me, Papa carries her out of the bedroom, bellowing for our driver.
I sprint after them. My heart is doing that moth thing again, and I’m having trouble breathing as the sobs pile up inside my throat, choking me.
Don’t cry. Papa doesn’t like it when you cry.
Mama lets out an agonizing wail. Papa swears and picks up his pace. A few seconds and he’s through the front door, not even bothering to pull on his jacket. I run out into the hallway after him, but he’s already disappearing into the elevator.
The last thing I see as the doors slide shut is Mama’s gray-green face, twisted in pain as she screams over and over again.
Mama doesn’t come home that night. Neither does Papa. I lie in my racecar bed, reading the princess story to myself over and over again. Jeanette, our new French nanny, looks in on me, but before she pokes her head in, I turn off my lamp, pull my blanket over my head, and pretend to be asleep. She quietly closes the door and tiptoes away.
As soon as she’s gone, I turn the lamp back on and resume reading. It’s my favorite story because by the end, the young prince slays all the dragons. It takes him years, but he wins the beautiful princess’s hand in marriage and, best of all, her love.
Someday, I will also meet a beautiful princess, and when I do, I won’t stop until I slay every dragon keeping us apart.
I fall asleep sobbing, but Papa is not there to see it, so he can’t punish me. In the morning, Ruslan climbs into my bed, asking about Mama, and I tell him she’s dead. I know what death is because when I was just a little older than Ruslan, Papa took me to a farm and had me kill a chicken. I cut its throat with a knife as it squawked and beat its wings to get away. There was a lot of red that time—blood, like on Mama’s bed—and the chicken didn’t move again. We cooked and ate it.