She has dreams of those early child-filled days. She sees warnings where there were none, thinks over and over: Why didn’t I stop it? Did it mean something that September always threw her food on the floor as a toddler? Did it mean something that she used to tug out Sheela’s hair when she was breastfeeding? Did it mean something that she did not cry on the first day of nursery like the other children, only walked, without looking back, into the school? Did it mean something that her father was a man whose hate so closely resembled his love?
