As if on cue, the sound of an engine broke the silence. A pair of headlights cut through the darkness from behind, casting her long shadow against the house.
Latisha slowly turned around. The man getting out of the car was silhouetted against the blinding light, and she had to squint to see him.
Clifford came to a stop in front of her, and their eyes met. She stared at him, her expression blank. His face was a mask of indifference.
“What are you doing standing out here?” he asked.
Latisha’s lips tightened. She raised her hands and signed, *Was it you?*
Clifford watched her calmly, saying nothing. To Latisha, his silence was a confession. He knew exactly what she was asking.
Disbelief washed over her. Her fingers felt stiff and heavy, and it took all her strength to form the words.
*Why? You promised me. You already promised.*
Clifford caught her hands, stopping her mid-gesture. “Let’s go inside.”
Latisha yanked her hands free and stubbornly asked again, *Why? Why would you do this to me?*
Clifford’s gaze darkened, his voice growing cold. “We’ll talk inside!”
His icy glare felt like a dagger to her heart, and she took an involuntary step back.
*Why?* she signed, her movements frantic. *What did I do wrong? Tell me, what did I do wrong?*
He grabbed her hand and began dragging her toward the house. Latisha fought against him, her fingers digging into the doorframe as she refused to go in. She even bent down and bit his wrist, hard.
Latisha froze, staring at him in disbelief. She had never felt like he was such a stranger. The last time he’d said those words, she had thought he was just angry, that he was genuinely worried about her falling in with the wrong crowd.
But now… what bad influence could Mrs. Dashiell possibly be? He wouldn’t even spare an old woman. His control over her had become a twisted, sick obsession.
What did he want? Why did he refuse to let her go when he clearly didn’t love her? What kind of family was this?
Clifford stared at her for a long time before finally releasing her chin and pulling her inside by the hand.
Latisha’s eyes were vacant. She stood in the empty room and glanced toward the sofa, but it was just as empty as the rest of the house.
She tugged on his sleeve. Clifford turned to look at her.
She signed, *Clifford, do you love me?*

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