The smell of reheated food still lingered in the kitchen when Emma opened the refrigerator. It was a little after seven in the evening. Her stomach growled with hunger, but for days she had been throwing up almost everything she ate. That afternoon, after an especially hard day at school—stares, whispers, and the usual emptiness—she had promised herself that she would at least try to eat something.

She took out a package of ham and was cutting a slice when she heard her mother’s footsteps.

"I know you’ve been throwing up after you eat, Emma."

The woman’s voice sounded sharp, like a knife. The girl froze, the slice of ham still in her hand. Her mother stood in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and that look of permanent disappointment seemingly etched into her face, accentuated by the dark bags under her eyes. The pills she took were already beginning to work, but they had not made her completely drowsy yet.

"Me? Throwing up? That’s a lie!" Emma shot back, though her voice trembled slightly.

"No, it’s not! You think I’m stupid or something?" She shoved her. "Opening the window doesn’t do a damn thing. The bathroom still reeks, no matter how much air freshener you spray."

The girl felt her throat tighten. The ham she had wanted so badly suddenly made her nauseous. She looked at her mother. "Why can’t she just leave me alone?" she thought. "I just want to disappear…"

"What now? You two going at it again?" Her father came out of the living room when he heard the yelling. "What happened this time?"

He was a man of average build, with a receding hairline and the weary look of someone who worked nights and slept during the day.

"Your daughter!" her mother roared. "She’s throwing up her food again!"

"That’s a lie!" she protested.

"No! It isn’t!" She shook her. Her mother’s determined expression was impossible to evade, and Emma moved toward the living room as though seeking refuge with her father. But her mother followed. Her furious face demanded an answer, and the girl lost her nerve.

"Okay, fine! Yes!" she admitted. "But I’ve got a stomach bug, all right? That’s why!"

"What’s wrong with you?" the man asked.

"Uh… gastroenteritis or something. That’s it! The girl who sits next to me was sick, okay? I caught it from her."

"Don’t believe a word she says, Joe. Look at her face—she’s lying through her teeth."

"I’m not lying!"

"Yeah, you are!" Her mother slapped her.

"All right, that’s enough!" her father intervened.

"Don’t you ever lay a hand on me again!" Emma screamed, angry tears filling her eyes. "Ever!"

Another slap, followed by several more, which her spineless father was unable to prevent.

"Oh, so you’re tough with me now? Where was all that attitude when those girls were bullying you? They’re the ones you should’ve fought back against—not me!" She clamped a hand around Emma’s arm.

"Let go of me!"

"No! You should’ve stood up to them, and none of this would’ve happened! Not to you, not to us. You’re going to worry us into an early grave, you ungrateful brat!"

"Let go of me, you psycho! You’re a hysterical, menopausal lunatic—that’s what you are!"

More slaps followed, which her father managed to stop only with great difficulty.

"Emma, your mother is right. You can’t go on like this. If you don’t eat…"

The girl covered her ears and headed for the door, but her mother was faster.

"You’re not leaving this house. I’m not letting you go out and do something stupid. You hear me?"

"Oh, yeah? And how exactly are you gonna stop me?"

"I’ll never let you go out again! Do you hear me?"

"Ha! You’ll have no choice. Children are required to attend school."

"You’re not a child anymore."

"I’m still in compulsory education, and I have to go."

"Of course, because you repeated two grades. Aren’t you ashamed of being such a bad student?"

Emma looked at her mother with an expression of profound hatred.

"God, Mom, you’re heartless. You seriously have no heart! I was a good student before all this happened. I was too busy trying not to kill myself to worry about homework!"

"Oh, you tried, all right! More than once! You ungrateful little brat!"

"If it had worked, I wouldn’t be your problem anymore. I’d be dead!"

Another slap.

"That’s what you want, isn’t it? Killing yourself isn’t enough—you want to destroy your father and me too! You want us dead inside! You ungrateful brat!"

Her mother tried to hit her again, but her father stopped her hand.

"The girl is right about that."

"Right about what? Huh?" She glared at him, her eyes blazing. She nearly slapped him too.

"That she couldn’t study when she was so traumatized."

The woman seemed not to hear him and turned to her daughter again:

"You’re not sneaking out tonight. Not a chance."

"Oh, really? What are you gonna do—stand guard by the door all night?"

"If I have to, I will. If I have to, I won’t take my sleeping pills, and I’ll stay right here in the hallway all night."

Her husband watched the scene like a fool, and the woman snapped at him:

"And you, Joe, could do something. Couldn’t you?"

"What do you want me to do? I can’t stand guard because I have to go to work."

"Jesus, Joe," she muttered. "For starters, you could change the damn lock so she can’t open it from the inside without a key."

"And what good would that do? Huh? If she doesn’t sneak out through the door, she’ll go out the window."

"Oh, great—the window!" she shouted. "Go ahead, give her ideas! Maybe she’ll climb out, fall, and kill herself. Brilliant, Joe!"

"You think I haven’t tried? Like…"

"Tried what?"

"Jumping out the window, Mom! What do you think?"

"Emma," her father interjected. "Did you really…?"

"Yeah! I really did! But it’s not high enough."

Another slap.

"You’re going to be the death of us!" she choked out. "God, what did we ever do to deserve this?"

Her mother could take no more and went to her bedroom, crying nonstop, to take another pill. Emma seized the moment to slip toward the front door, but her father caught up with her on the landing. His face was drawn, a mixture of worry, exhaustion, and guilt.

"Promise me you won’t do anything foolish," he pleaded softly.

She looked at him with eyes as cold as ice and muttered while staring at the floor, her fingers crossed behind her back:

"I promise."

She closed the door behind her and ran down the stairs. Her heart was pounding. The night air struck her face, cool and liberating. But the migraine was still there, hammering away.

As she walked toward the park, she could think of only one thing: "Tonight, it will all be over."