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I ran to Papa and told him.

I practiced the words first so I wouldn’t cry in the middle. I said, Anton hit me. I said it twice. Papa didn’t believe me. He brought Anton in, and Anton said I hit myself. That isn’t true, Mama. I didn’t. Why would I do that? I don’t like pain. I like sweets and drawings and Alya and you. I don’t hit myself. Anton was the one who hit me. I said it again. My voice got small. Papa looked at me like I was making a mess on purpose.

He thinks I’m sick.

He brought so many doctors. They ask questions I don’t understand. They look at my head and my eyes and they talk to Papa like I’m not in the room. One of them smiled at me too softly, like I was a broken toy. Another one asked if I hear things.

They gave me medicine.

Papa says it will help me stop lying. I am not lying. I take it anyway.

Anton said if I keep disobeying he will hit my head.

My head is small.

What if he crushes it?

I keep touching it at night to make sure it’s still there. I count the bones with my fingers even though I don’t know their names. I sleep facing the door now. I don’t put my knives under the pillow anymore, because he found them once and said little boys who play with knives get what they ask for. I hid them in the garden instead, under the stones by your spot. I hope the rain doesn’t ruin them. I hope he doesn’t find them.

I don’t wait in your doorway anymore because I’m afraid he’ll find me there.

I used to sit on the floor and tell you about my day. Now I write it, because paper doesn’t make a sound. If he hears me talking to you, he will say I’m sick again, and Papa will bring another doctor, and I will have to smile and say I made it up.

I called him Toni.

I don’t anymore.

Toni was for someone who sat on the floor with me. This one doesn’t sit. This one stands in the doorway until I look up. I tried the name once after the spiders, very small, to see if it would bring the other one back. He told me not to call him that. He said it was embarrassing.

Can you come get me, Mama?

Please.

I know you went in the sky. I know people say that means you can’t come back. Alya says you’re watching. Papa doesn’t say anything at all. But I don’t care what they say. I need you. Papa doesn’t listen. Alya doesn’t know all of it yet, because I’m scared he’ll hurt her too if I tell. I don’t want him to hurt her. She still thinks he’s nice. She still laughs when he talks. If I take that away, she will be scared in this house the way I am, and then neither of us will have anywhere soft.

I can take it better if it’s only me.

I think I can.

I don’t know.

Today he walked past me in the hall and didn’t even hit me, and I still flinched. He saw it and he smiled. Not the smile from the first day. A different one. I went to my room after and sat in the corner with my knees up, because the bed doesn’t feel like mine anymore. I kept thinking about the spiders. I kept thinking about my head. I pressed my hands over it until my arms got tired.

I’m crying now.

I didn’t want to write that either.

The ink is wet in one spot. I’m sorry. I tried to wipe it and made it worse.

Please don’t be disappointed.

If you come back, can you at least stand in the doorway?

Just so he sees you.

Just so he stops.

Come get me, Mama.