Worse.
The kind of quiet laughter that makes you feel smaller than you already are.
“Is that supposed to be a dress?” one of them said.
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew if I opened my mouth, my voice would give me away.
Then there was a knock at the door.
Not loud.
But enough to stop everything.
My stepmother opened it.
A man stood there in uniform.
Straight posture. Calm. Serious.
The room changed instantly.
He asked for me.
Everyone turned.
He handed me an envelope.
Heavy.
