My father had come home again. In our house, that was never a good thing. Whenever he returned, he never left without making our lives a living hell.
From behind the door, his semi-drunk voice echoed: "DONNA! OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT NOW!" My mother turned to me, her voice trembling. "Lane, quickly, go to your room and hide!" she said. Then, she walked toward the steel door with dread in her eyes. I knew exactly what was coming. I ran to my room and locked the door.
I knew a simple lock might not stop him, but it was the only thing I could do. I looked around my room frantically. It was empty. The only place to hide was under the bed. I crawled underneath, pulled my knees to my chest, and covered my mouth with my hands. Even the slightest sound could give me away.
I could hear my mother's voice from the other room. "Ah, don't, Carl!" she screamed. I heard something slam against the wall—then, silence.
My mother's voice was gone. Footsteps approached. They stopped right in front of my door. "Lane, open this door before I get even angrier," he said. He waited for a moment. Then, he exploded in rage: "JUST LIKE HER MOTHER!"
He began pounding on the door. "LANE! OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR!" Every blow felt like it was hitting my heart. Finally, the door gave way. Even with my hands over my mouth, I was shaking uncontrollably.
He stepped into the room, scanning the area with fury. "Lane, where are you, little girl?" he mocked. He pulled the curtains, threw open the wardrobe… then his eyes shifted to the bed. He leaned down. And he saw me.
He grabbed me by the leg and dragged me out violently. I remember the first slap that landed on my face. Then another. And another. Soon, I couldn't feel the pain anymore; there was only darkness. The last thing I felt was a kick to my stomach… and then, everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, my mother was by my side. She was talking to someone on the phone in a panic. I tried to call out to her, but no sound came out. I could only reach out and grab her clothes.
She noticed me and immediately hung up. She knelt down and handed me a glass of water. "Lane, I know it hurts, but you have to get up right now," she said, her voice shaking.
I stared at her blankly. She felt the need to explain. "We're leaving today, Lane." As soon as I heard those words, my eyes lit up. My whole body ached, but it didn't matter. I was finally escaping this hell.
My mother grabbed the suitcase she had packed beforehand. We headed for the back door. Normally, my father had nailed it shut, but now, there wasn't a single nail left. It opened to the fire escape. It was the first time I had seen that path so closely.
Everything was going well… until the doorbell rang. My father usually came around once a month, but today he had returned early. "DONNA! OPEN THE DOOR! OR I'LL CARVE BOTH OF YOU ALIVE!" He was here. The devil himself.
My mother began to panic; her hands were shaking. "Mom..." I managed to whisper. Before I could finish my sentence, she pressed a piece of paper into my hand. "At least one of us must escape this hell, Lane. When you get down, get into the taxi in front of the house. The driver knows where to go," she said. Then, she pushed me out and shut the door.
I flew down the fire escape so fast I nearly tumbled. But I didn't stop. Just as she said, a taxi was waiting. I ran and hopped in before anyone could see me.
The driver looked at me, surprised to see me alone. "Where is your mother, little miss?" I wasn't in any state to explain. Realizing this, the man fell silent and started the engine.
As we drove away from the street, I looked back at the house one last time. Hoping, perhaps, that my mother would manage to escape too… But she never came.
After a relatively short drive, we arrived at the bus terminal. Right then, I remembered the ticket my mother had given me. The driver turned to me and asked, "Do you know the plate number or the bus code?"
I handed him the ticket. We got out of the taxi together. He took my hand and led me to a large bus.
"This is the bus waiting for you, little miss," he said, guiding me to the door. He boarded with me and helped me find my seat. Then, he knelt down to look at me.
"Little miss, my journey with you ends here. There will be people waiting for you at the final stop. One of them is named Ray. Don't talk to anyone else but him, okay?" I remained silent for a moment.
Then, for the first time, I found my voice: "I understand, sir." The man nodded and gave a faint smile. He stepped off the bus and waited outside until it started moving.
The bus traveled in silence for a long time. Looking out the window, the towns we passed felt like shadows fading into the distance. I don't know how long it took—time had become blurred by pain. There was only the rhythmic hum of the engine and the cold glass against my head.
After a while, the driver's voice rang out: "Last stop, New York!" My heart raced. Even the name of the city felt foreign. As soon as I stepped off the bus, a sharp wind hit my face. The crowds, the honking cars, the distant sirens… everything hit me at once.
In the middle of the crowd, someone called my name. "Lane?" I looked toward the voice. A tall man in a dark coat was walking toward me. His face looked stern, but there was a strange softness in his eyes. "I'm Ray. The person your mother mentioned."
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded. Ray silently took my suitcase. "This place might scare you, but you're safe. Come on, let's go home." The word "home" stung. I didn't have a home anymore.
We got into a black car that looked like a taxi. Ray didn't speak; he just glanced at me through the rearview mirror occasionally. The city lights reflected off the window, flickering across my face.
About half an hour later, we stepped out. Looming before me was an old building—grey stone walls, iron-barred windows, and a faded sign: "Hollow Creek Orphanage."
Ray knocked on the door. After a moment, an elderly woman opened it. Her face was weary, but her gaze held a strict discipline. "This must be the new one."
Ray nodded. The woman stepped closer and looked at me intently. "Your name is Lane, isn't it?" "Yes," I said in a low voice. As soon as she heard my name, she scribbled something in a notebook.
"I am Mrs. Crawford. This will be your home now." Ray turned to me silently. "You'll be okay here, Lane. It's what your mother wanted." I wanted to say something, but the words caught in my throat. I just watched him—until he disappeared.
Inside, the orphanage felt even colder than the outside. Children's voices echoed through the long hallways, but they were faint, as if suppressed. Mrs. Crawford led me to a small room.
There were two bunk beds inside. One was empty. "This is your place now. You'll learn the rules in the morning," she said and closed the door. In the darkness, I slowly sat on the bed. At that moment, the door creaked open.
Two children, slightly older than me, walked in. One was blonde, with a look of curiosity on his face. "Are you new?" he asked with a smile. "Yes…"
"I'm Max," he said, extending his hand. The boy behind him was silent, with dark hair and a serious expression. "And this is Alex. He doesn't talk much." Alex nodded in greeting. Max sat on the edge of his bed and turned to me. "Mrs. Crawford looks scary, but she isn't bad. She's just a stickler for rules." I smiled. For the first time in a long while.
We talked for a bit—or rather, Max talked and I listened. Alex stared silently out the window. The wind slightly lifted the edge of the curtain, and the hum of the city drifted in from afar.
For a split second, a shadow moved among the distant lights. It looked as though someone was watching the building. I blinked, but by then, it had vanished.
I told myself it was just exhaustion. But the unease inside me wouldn't fade so easily. That night, for the first time, I slept in a stranger's bed.
My mother's voice echoed in my ears: "At least one of us must escape this hell…" But deep down, I knew—nothing was over. It had only changed shape.