Broken Glass Read online

  The therapist who was sent to treat me was a woman named Dr. Sacks. I gathered from her introduction and things I heard about her later that she specialized in helping rape victims. I made a point of telling her that I was never actually raped. The pride I took in the clever ways I had avoided that was amusing to her. She kept promising me that I was going to be just fine.

  “The mind has ways to file away such a horrible experience,” she assured me, but she also pointed out that I might have nightmares for some time.

  We also talked about my being what she called psychologically gun-shy.

  “Your trust of strangers, especially men, will be difficult to achieve, maybe for your whole life, but all of us are a little paranoid. Paranoia isn’t necessarily a bad thing if it’s controlled. You’ll just be a lot more careful than most people.”

  Of course, I knew that many of the things she told me were things she was saying simply to help me feel better about myself and my future.

  She wanted me to tell her in as much detail as I could what had happened to me. “It’s better to get it out,” she said.

  I did tell her a great deal, and I did feel better after telling her. Arrangements were made for me to see her periodically after I was released from the hospital. It made sense to me. I didn’t have another woman in whom I could confide. My grandmothers were not useful for this, and with Mother still suffering herself, there wasn’t anyone. There were things I didn’t want to tell Daddy or didn’t feel comfortable telling him. He understood. Actually, I think he was happy that I couldn’t tell him these things. He was afraid of his own nightmares.

  I asked about Mr. Moccasin. Dr. Sacks thought it was very nice that I cared, but she didn’t recommend that I keep him.

  “He’s too tied to it all,” she said. “He’s too much of a reminder and will revive images that you would rather forget. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  I was sorry about that. Mr. Moccasin had become my only friend and companion, but I understood what she was saying.

  It wasn’t until the night before I was going to be released from the hospital that Daddy talked about Haylee. She was in a county jail, and the attorney Daddy had felt obligated to get for her was moving to have her psychologically evaluated and transferred to a clinic.

  “The legal system works slowly, but frankly, I’m happy she’s in a real jail for a while,” he told me.

  I’m not, I thought, but I didn’t say it. No one, especially Daddy perhaps, would understand how I could feel so sorry for her. But it was like Mother always told us—we felt each other’s pain. I wanted to believe that she had felt mine while I was trapped. I wanted to believe that she was sorry. How could I believe any of that if I let myself hate her?

  I said nothing.

  I would never know how I really felt about her until I faced her again. That would take time.

  “Everyone’s asking about you,” Daddy told me the day he took me home. “Your grandparents are coming to see you, and my brothers and their families will be coming for the first vacation they can get. We’ll be like a family,” he joked.

  I was very nervous about going home. I was afraid that the moment I entered the house, I would burst into uncontrollable sobbing. I could see Daddy was nervous for me, too.

  The moment we entered, I expected to see Haylee. I couldn’t help that. It was so unusual for me to be home without her. Daddy followed me up to my room. I stood in the doorway and looked at everything as if for the first time.

  “Why don’t you just rest for a while?” he said. “I’m ordering in some Chinese for us.”

  I looked at him.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes. You know what we like,” I said. It would be what Haylee liked, too.

  He realized what I was saying and nodded. Then he reached out to hug me.

  He’s hugging only me, I thought. Haylee’s not going to be hugged.

  She had gotten what she wanted after all.

  We were completely apart.

  Two days later, after he had gotten me a wig to wear, so similar to my real hair that no one could tell the difference, Daddy took me to see Mother. She was sitting in her room at the clinic, looking out the window. It was a very nice room, with flowery wallpaper. She was wearing a familiar housecoat she had worn when she was doing housework, and her hair looked like it had just been brushed and pinned.

  “Hi, Mother,” I said, and she turned to me. She stared at me for longer than I expected.

  Daddy was at my side.

  My first thought was, She’s not sure who I am. Mother is not sure. She never made a mistake when it came to who we were. I especially wanted her to know who I was now.

  I held my breath.

  She smiled. “Kaylee,” she said. She held out her arms, and I started for her.

  Then she suddenly dropped them, her smile evaporating. “Haylee,” she said, shaking her head.

  I looked at Daddy and then turned back to her.

  “She was bad. She’s in the pantry,” she said.

  ABOUT

  One of the most popular authors of all time, V.C. Andrews has been a bestselling phenomenon since the publication of Flowers in the Attic, first in the renowned Dollanganger family series, which includes Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and Garden of Shadows. The family saga continues with Christopher’s Diary: Secrets of Foxworth, Christopher’s Diary: Echoes of Dollanganger, and Secret Brother. V.C. Andrews has written more than seventy novels, which have sold over 106 million copies worldwide and have been translated into twenty-five foreign languages.

  Join the conversation about the world of V.C. Andrews at Facebook.com/OfficialVCAndrews.

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  Following the death of Virginia Andrews, the Andrews family worked with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Virginia Andrews’s stories and to create additional novels, of which this is one, inspired by her storytelling genius.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Vanda Productions, LLC

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Pocket Books paperback edition February 2017

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  Cover design by Anna Dorfman

  Cover photographs © coka/Shutterstock (women), fotomak/Shutterstock (broken glass)

  ISBN 978-1-4767-9237-8

  ISBN 978-1-4767-9246-0 (ebook)