Chapter 3: The Price of Unborn Lamb
The next morning, I got up early, wanting to talk to Mom about running away, but after searching the whole house, I couldn’t find her.
Panic set in, my heart racing as I checked every room, even the closets. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence ringing in my ears. I called her name, but nobody answered.
I panicked and was about to search the town when I ran right into my dad. He was holding a ewe on a leash. He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me back.
The ewe bleated, its eyes wide with fear. Dad’s grip was iron-tight, and he yanked me so hard my feet left the ground. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go.
“What are you running around for?”
His voice was rough, slurred from too much whiskey. He glared at me, daring me to talk back.
“Dad, Mom’s missing!”
My voice shook, but I stood my ground. I looked him in the eye, hoping he’d understand how scared I was.
He nodded, saying Mom must’ve run off with some other man. Then he grinned. “I’ll find you a new mom in a few days.”
His smile was cruel, mocking. He tugged the ewe closer, like it was some kind of prize. I felt sick to my stomach.
“I don’t want that! I just want my mom!”
I stomped my foot, voice rising. Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. The ewe nudged my leg, bleating softly.
The ewe bleated at my feet.
Its cry sounded almost human, desperate and scared. I reached down to pet its head, but Dad shoved me away.
My dad slapped me across the face and spat, “Just as I thought. That woman never saw you as her kid—she beat you every day, and you still cling to her.”
“You just haven’t been beaten enough! Guess you need another lesson!”
He wouldn’t let me look for my mom. Instead, he handed me a bowl of green chili peppers and told me to wash them clean. He needed to start prepping the ingredients for unborn lamb.
I stared down at the peppers, their skin shiny and bright. My hands shook as I carried them to the sink. I kept telling myself I’d find Mom, no matter what. But deep down, I was afraid it was already too late.
Water thundered in the sink while my thoughts raced. I kept scrubbing, pretending not to know what any of it meant.













