![]() ![]() That day, instead of meeting up with a mother who’d give her a peck on the cheek and hand her an apple while asking about her day, she found a mother who was curled up against a mahogany cabinet, crying into her hands. Zukiwski didn’t get the chance to tell her to do things, then she wasn’t really breaking any rules, right?īesides, the kitchen was where she wanted to be anyways! That’s where she always went after school, it’s where her mom would be, ready with a few snacks for her to grab.īut not that day. Maybe that’s why, after they pulled into the garage and Sasha could get the car door open, she shot straight out of her seat as fast as her feet could take her, bounding up the stairs two at a time. But, (despite all of Sasha’s misgivings about this ‘chauffeur’ if that’s what she really was) she still had to listen to her, which rankled her. Not one that meant something was different, necessarily, but she hadn’t had a chauffeur for very long and it was taking a lot to get used to. She was picked up from school by their chauffeur, Mrs. (Anne had only been going to Muay Thai classes for a couple of months, but Sasha was starting to feel like her friend was getting better at rolling around in the dirt with her - she even suspected that she’d let her win, for some reason.) The rest of the day had been fine - a pleasant blur of exerting herself at school, doing all the things she couldn’t at home, being able to shout and stomp her feet and wrestle with Anne in the schoolyard. They fought until something that sounded like glass had shattered, but the next morning at breakfast whatever was broken had been swept away, and the tension that her parents thought she couldn’t see on their faces wasn’t as bad as yesterday, so Sasha thought nothing of it. The night before, after her parents were sure that she was asleep, she’d heard them argue again, louder than before. Sasha was six years old when she first understood what a drunk person acted like. ![]()
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