She hated masks. More importantly, she hated how her parents wore them. How they could sit on their red arched sofa sipping tea and having light conversation dressed so refined and sophisticated. It bothered her as she stood in the middle of the luxurious living room of their regal mansion.
A lot of things bothered her recently but seeing them today heightened the churning in her stomach. Sometimes she suspected they weren't her parents but she had her mother's Hazel eyes, hips, and hair and from her father, she got the shape of her eyes and lips.
This home, a prison to be exact, didn't bring any pleasant memories to her. She wasn't abused-not physically anyway-but emotionally, they tore her apart and the worst part was they never did anything to her and that was the issue, they never did anything.
"Mom, Dad," she called out coolly and they looked up from whatever activity they were doing.
