I was conscious when Glória came to my rescue. Glória, the only sandy-haired one like me.
Glória, whom no one touched. She grabbed Father’s hand to stop the blow.
“Father. Father. Hit me, for God’s sake, but don’t hit that child any more.”
He threw the belt on the table and ran his hands over his face. He was crying for himself and for me.
“I lost my head. I thought he was taunting me. Giving me cheek.”
When Glória picked me up off the ground, I blacked out.
When I came to my senses, I was burning up with fever. Mother and Glória were at my bedside saying sweet things.
Lots of people were moving about in the living room. Even Gran had been called.
Every movement hurt me all over. Later I learned that they had wanted to call the doctor, but it wouldn’t have looked good.
Glória brought me some broth she’d made and tried to feed me a few spoonfuls.
I could barely breathe, much less swallow. All I wanted to do was sleep and each time I woke up, the pain had eased a little.
But Mother and Glória continued to watch over me.
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