The threat hit Hoppy. The image of the dark, cold prison, the same kind of cage the slaver had promised, flashed through her mind, blending with the trauma of the slimes and the screams. Her world, already fractured, shattered completely.
She wasn't a daughter. She wasn't a survivor. In this house, she was just a "thief" of a life that didn't belong to her anymore. Her father's new wife shrieked again, pointing toward the open street.
"Get out! Get out before I ruin what little is left of you!"
Hoppy gripped the brick floor so hard that her fingers began to bleed. The memories of her mother and the times her father came home to their house were all she had left to fight with. She screamed:
"He's my Papa! He came home to our house, too! He gave me warm hugs and kisses... He's the only one I have left… please, he is my Papa, too!"
