Page 2

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to talk about my parents.”

Patricia tutted, giving another dismissive wave of her hand. “I didn’t intend to talk about them, Raelynn. I merely meant to speak of how Bonnie’s mental state took a sharp decline after…” She rolled her hand as if to say, “you know.”

And I knew.

Grandma had always been eccentric, talking about obscure things like creatures that only lived in storybooks—things that fascinated and charmed me growing up.

Everyone humored her. They never questioned her sanity until my parents died. After their deaths, she lost a piece of herself. She rambled on and on about the same creatures, but she couldn’t hide the fear in her voice.

When Papa died two years ago, her mental state deteriorated. She lashed out. The smallest things made her jump. If she hadn’t gone to live with Tim and Patricia, they’d have petitioned social services to lock her away in Broughton Hospital, hours away from the rest of the family.

The very thing Patricia had the audacity to sit and threaten me with.

If they locked me up, I’d lose Grandma. I couldn’t let that happen.

Patricia and Tim lived an hour away from me in Greensboro, North Carolina—four hours away from the hospital in Morganton. If they locked me away, I wouldn’t see Grandma again because they sure wouldn’t drive hours to see me. They didn’t even drive the hour.

I clenched my hands in my lap, nails biting into the flesh of my palms.

Tim looked into locking me away?

How dare he. How dare they.

Patricia didn’t hold the power in their marriage, but she wasn’t a passive bystander. She could have stopped him, but no—she believed women were subservient to men, and prayer solved everything. She chose to let him run things.

It felt like stepping back into the dark ages every time I visited.

It angered me that she thought locking away family was normal. Not everyone with mental illness was dangerous.

Who does that?

They didn’t know my life.

They didn’t know I never talked about the things Grandma shared with me once I returned home.

I never saw strange shadow people.

I lived a normal life—or at least I tried to.

And I certainly wasn’t losing my mind.

Everyone saw those kinds of things as children. Imaginary friends. Make-believe. Doctors chalked it up to an overactive imagination, not insanity. At twenty-three, not so much.

It was a good thing the fanciful things of childhood didn’t plague my adult life.

Liar.

Patricia snapped her fingers in front of my face. I flinched.

“Honestly, Raelynn. Wipe that flighty look from your face. It isn’t helping your case.” Patricia’s critical gaze scanned me from head to toe, and she shook her head at what she found lacking. “Doesn’t that little shop you work at have anything worth wearing?”

“This didn’t come from Behind the Moon.”

Patricia frowned. “What kind of name is that?”