Standing a few steps in front of the bed, my eyes swept over the white sheets—sheets my family expected to see stained with my blood in the morning. Blood that wouldn’t be there. I crept closer to the bed. There had been blood the first time, the second time, and even the third time. Lots of blood, pain, terror, and begging. There had been no presentation of the sheets back then. Our maid, who had never come to my aid, cleaned them.
