She had been devising several ways to approach him. Some subtler, others more direct. Some would take longer, others would be quicker. And whenever she had finally settled on something, she abandoned the idea altogether.

Her mother’s memory lapses were becoming increasingly obvious, even though her routine was always the same: before going to bed, she opened the safe, took out the pills, swallowed them, closed the safe, and put the chain with the key around her neck. But that night was different. That night, for some reason, she had left the bottle out on top of the dresser in the room where she slept…

It was 8:30 in the morning. Joe was showering after getting home from work. Emma was finishing breakfast before leaving for school. And her mother, Deborah, had gotten up to use the bathroom for a moment before returning to her room to keep sleeping. Emma passed the open door… and there she saw them on the dresser.

But she did not have time to complete the theft. She already had the bottle in her hand and was about to slip it into her pants pocket when her mother caught her red-handed.

The first two smacks landed while her back was still turned. They were so hard that the bottle fell from her hands and burst open against the floor, scattering all the pills across it. The girl spun around and, filled with rage, tried to hit her mother back, but her mother gave her no chance.

The struggle and insults began, and in the end Joe had to rush out of the shower to keep the mother from finishing off the daughter without any help from suicide.

The man, dripping wet with a towel around his waist, stepped between them and broke up the fight. When he saw the pills scattered across the floor and crushed underfoot, he understood what had happened.

"Your daughter!" she shouted at him. "She’s at it again!"

"Again, Emma?" her father asked.

"Again!" Deborah shrieked. "Again! She seemed to have calmed down a little lately, but you can see that she hasn’t…"

"What happened this time, sweetheart?" Her father addressed the girl, who was now sitting on the bed with her back to them, crying nonstop. But she paid no attention to him.

"She seemed to have turned a corner," her mother went on. "She seemed calmer, so of course I let my guard down. I left the pills on the dresser and bam! One careless moment, and there you have it! Right back where we started!"

"Deb, it’s just… if you forgot the pills, then, of course, the girl… it’s still very early, and…"

"Shut up! And don’t defend her! Don’t you dare take her side like you always do, you hear me?"

The man refused to take the bait. Without a word, he seized the moment—now that things seemed a bit calmer—to go back to the bathroom and get dressed. Deborah, arms crossed, lashed out at the girl again:

"Go ahead, cry! Cry!" She spun the girl around with a sharp slap. "But you should know I’ve been told you’re seeing some guy. Some guy, an old man of all things! A lowlife..."

Emma stood up and confronted her.

"Who told you? Huh?"

"Aha! So it is true..."

"Who told you!" she demanded, shouting back.

"Sharon." The mother put her hands on her hips. "The neighbor from the fifth floor. Her husband saw the two of you walking along the station boulevard. Holding hands, too!"

"That’s a lie!" she cried out in agitation.

"No! It isn't!" Another slap.

"I swear it’s a lie! I never held Alder’s hand..."

She kept crying, sitting back down on the bed with her hands over her face.

"Archer... huh?" She moved to the other side, facing her. "So that’s his name—Archer, that bum... Because apparently, he’s a beggar, a stinking old man... You know what that man wants from you, don't you?"

The girl said nothing and kept crying.

"Answer me!" She gave her a shove. "Do you know what that guy wants from you? Huh?"

"Yeah!" She stood up, lashing out. "I know what he wants!" She gritted her teeth. "And you should know I’m going to give it to him!"

More slaps.

"Slut!" "On top of being a terrible daughter, you’re a slut!" she screamed.

"Deborah, for God’s sake..." The man had to come out again, his shirt half-on and wearing only one sock. "What’s going on now?"

"Your daughter! She’s seeing some old man... some scruffy bum who must live in a cave..."

Joe was taken aback. That was the last thing he’d expected. His daughter did all sorts of wild things, but something like this was unthinkable. His daughter—so demure, who had never shown the slightest interest in boys... who seemed so oblivious to the usual concerns of her age... Or so he had thought.

"Is that true, Emma?" he asked, seeking confirmation. She snapped back instantly:

"No. It isn't!"

"The nerve of you!" her mother roared, slapping her again. "You just admitted it! And for the record, his name is Archer," she told her husband.

"Archer?"

"Yes, Archer! And he wants to sleep with your daughter! Just so you know, Joe!" Deborah’s eyes were blazing with fury. "A lowlife, an old bum... He’s going to knock our daughter up!"

Her mother moved to deliver another smack, but her father stopped her arm.

"Emma..." he began, while the girl shook her head.

"Is that what you want?" her mother lashed out again. "Huh? You want to come home pregnant by that lowlife and ruin your life? Huh?" Another slap—one the father couldn't stop this time; he was still reeling from the news. The girl lashed out furiously:

"Yes! That is what I want! Do you hear me? That’s what I want! And I wish I already was..."

"You wish?"

"I wish I was already pregnant!" she screamed, her hand over her mouth. This time, the blow had split her lip.

"Not while I’m alive! Ungrateful child! Not while I’m alive! The day you walk through that door with a bun in the oven..."

"What?"

"I’ll give you such a beating that..."

"Deborah!" the father interjected.

"I’ll give you such a beating that you’ll never want to make us suffer again!"

"Oh, really?" "And will you kill your grandson?"

"I don't want grandchildren! Having a daughter was enough for me—and look how she turned out..."

"Well, you’ll have no choice but to put up with me and your grandson. Do you hear me? And your grandson!"

Another slap.

"You’ll have no choice!" she shrieked. "And you’re the slut!"

Another attempt at a slap—blocked by Joe this time, though clumsily. In the end, he took the blow.

"Did you hear what your daughter called me? Did you hear that, Joe?"

"Well, Deb, she... she didn't start it..." he stammered, still in shock. He couldn't believe what he’d heard. The news seemed so implausible, so shocking...

The woman didn't know whether to strike the father or the daughter, and she glared at both of them with eyes full of rage.

Emma’s lip was bleeding, and it felt as though her heart were pounding right there in the wound. Joe tried to tend to it with a handkerchief, but she pushed him away and turned to her mother, gritting her teeth:

"Just so you know, I’m going to show up heavily pregnant—like, really showing—and the moment you lay a hand on me after that, I swear I’m going to the police station and pressing charges."

"What? You wouldn't dare..."

"I swear I will! They’ll throw you in jail, and Dad and I will stay here living the good life... And your grandchild, too!"

Her mother could no longer restrain herself. She lunged at her daughter, raining blows down on her from every angle like a flailing windmill. Since the girl was shielding her face, the slaps landed instead on her arms, shoulders, and chest. Only Joe managed—with great difficulty—to halt the barrage of blows, while Deborah, unable to reach her because she was being held back, unleashed a torrent of insults, using every vulgarity she knew.

It ended badly. With a split lip and bruises scattered across her body, Emma weighed the option of returning to the bridge or doing something more drastic. In the end, she chose the latter.

Weeping with rage and harboring a deep, suppressed hatred as she walked to school, she revisited the idea she had previously dismissed as absurd. Yet now, the question wasn't about how to approach subtly, how to make a move, or how to pull off something that had once seemed impossible. No. Now she was determined to do it—and, what’s more, she was going to do it the quick way.