Chapter 15: Haunted by History

23.

But… can it really have nothing to do with me?

That question echoed inside me, louder than church bells on Sunday.

24.

After returning, I hid in my little room.

I thought all night.

I wondered if maybe I should just leave it at that.

Just pretend I hadn’t gone there today.

Resign myself, pick a decent family and get married.

Serve my in-laws, keep the family going—just that.

Endure it, and it will pass.

If my husband cheats, I’ll just pretend not to see.

There’s no real affection anyway.

At least I’ll be waited on, with no worries about food or money.

Just live my life like that.

Just treat the America of my past life as a dream—freedom and all that, it’s too far away.

I’m just a weakling born in peaceful times.

I have no combat experience.

Nor do I have the ideals and beliefs of my mom’s generation.

Give up.

Forget it.

In a daze, I fell asleep.

In my dream, I really did get married like that, and even had a daughter.

My daughter held my hand, wanting to go out and play, but the next second, that hand was chopped off.

Blood splattered across my face, warm and sticky. I tried to scream, but my voice got stuck in my throat.

I looked up, only to see my daughter’s face turn into Miss Livingston’s.

She looked at me, tears streaming down her face.

Just standing there, staring at me.

Her silence was an accusation. The whole world seemed to freeze.