Ten Years Ago
Danielle
Ignoring the sound of my own heartbeat galloping in my ears, I kneel beside the bed.
"Izzy, wake up." I gently nudge my four-year-old sister, trying to pull her out of sleep. She's warm and cocooned in her blankets, her tiny body curled into itself for safety, her golden curls clinging damply to her forehead.
The clock on the nightstand blinks: 4:00 a.m.
Izzy rubs her eyes and turns over, burying herself deeper into the covers.
"No, baby, you have to wake up," I whisper, nudging her again, softer this time. "Remember how we talked about this last night? Do you remember packing?"
"I'm sleepy, Sissy," she mumbles, her voice thick with exhaustion. "I don't wanna go."
She doesn't want to go.
This is our fifth foster home in four years—always staying just long enough to start believing we might be okay, but never long enough to truly feel safe.
Duke, our current foster father, is cruel. His wife, Jaime, is too scared of him to lift a finger when he loses his temper, and it’s always me who pays the price.
I reach up, my fingers brushing the tender bruise blooming across my cheekbone. Last night was the last time I'd let that monster lay a hand on me, or my sister.
"Izzy, we have to go," I whisper, my voice tight with urgency. I nudge her again, careful to keep my movements quiet. The seven beers Duke downed last night worked in our favor, but Jaime is a light sleeper. One wrong noise, and this chance is gone.
"Come on," I coax, lifting Izzy and sitting her up, slipping her small feet into her tennis shoes. Last night, when I tucked her in, I hadn’t changed her into pajamas. I kept her dressed in her clothes from the day so she'd be ready when it was time to run.
Now is the time.
***
The early morning dew clings to every surface as we slip out the back door.
I reach instinctively for the front pocket of my backpack, my fingers brushing against the envelope stuffed with the four hundred and thirty dollars we’ve scrapedtogether—our entire fortune, saved from ten long months of allowances with the Wilburns.
"I'm cold, Dani," Izzy murmurs, her voice small against the heavy silence. Her little hand is wrapped tightly in mine as we hurry down the sidewalk.
The first bus to Indianapolis leaves at six. If we're lucky, the Wilburns won't even notice we're gone until we're long out of reach.
"If we walk a little faster, we'll warm up," I tell her, picking up the pace, my heart thudding harder with every step.
I glance over my shoulder for the tenth time checking to make sure Duke's truck isn't tailing us.
We're still twenty minutes out from the station. Meaning it would only take Duke five to find us if he realized we were gone.
We can't stop. Not for anything.
***
I breathe a shaky sigh of relief when the familiar Greyhound building comes into view. We're almost there.
I glance over my shoulder, and my heart sinks. A police car is heading straight toward us, its headlights cutting through the misty dark.
It's not even five o'clock in the morning. No way will they just let a teenager and a toddler wander by without stopping.
I squeeze Izzy’s hand tighter, bracing myself as the cruiser slows to a crawl beside us.
There’s no way we’re getting past them unnoticed.
