Cold and dark and the forest reaching for me as I run, but I am brushing aside its spindly branches as the voices whisper. And then the image shifts, and my mom is there, her blue-gray eyes wild as the sky before a storm. Her face this close to mine, her breath sour and hot. “You have to forget this. You cannot speak of it ever again. Not to anyone, Gwendolyn. Do you understand?”
