For the very first time, I found myself enjoying my time at the cafeteria. Jeremy was surprisingly pleasant to talk to. Was I starting to feel comfortable around him? Perhaps, just a little.

   He kindly offered to walk me home, but I had to decline. I couldn't bear the thought of my father harming my newfound friend. Friend, was that what he was?

   The truth was, I didn't have any real friends, mainly because my father never allowed me to have any. I was always fearful that he would hurt anyone who dared to get close.

  I considered myself fortunate to find my father in what could be termed a "good mood." When he was in one of those rare "good" moods, he mostly resorted to hurling insults at me.

   In haste, I retreated to my room. Dark thoughts had crossed my mind; I had contemplated ending it all. But deep down, I knew it would only serve to give him the satisfaction of my demise.

   I reached under the bed and retrieved a worn-out photo. It was a snapshot of my family, a time when smiles graced all our faces.

   My mother looked as beautiful as ever, her features mirroring mine. Her honey-brown eyes radiated with warmth as she cradled a three-year-old me in her arms. My father, too, wore a genuine expression of happiness, gazing at us as though we were his most treasured possessions. He bore no resemblance to the monster he had become.

   I opened the box from which I had extracted the photo, revealing a collection of my mother's possessions—the only things my father hadn't hidden away.

   Among them was the locket she had given me on my sixteenth birthday. Inside it was a cherished family portrait. I had secreted it in the box after my father had threatened to destroy it.

  I couldn't allow him to do that; this locket was my sole connection to my beloved mother. Oh, how I missed her—her beautiful smile and her contagious laughter echoing in my memories.