Chapter 3

The sharp click of metal buckling echoed in the hallway. 

Dad’s hand had already dropped to his waist. He was undoing his thick leather belt. 

My breath hitched. The air left my lungs. 

I was fifteen again. 

I remembered kneeling on raw rice in the dark hall closet. I remembered the heavy leather strap tearing into my back for a solid hour because mom couldn't find her gold baptism bracelet.

I had cried until I threw up, begging them to believe I hadn't stolen it, but my words meant nothing. The worst part wasn't the physical agony. It was Mom standing in the doorway, recording my screams with her phone, sending it to the church group chat so everyone could "pray for my lying tongue." 

My whole body broke out in a cold sweat. If he did it here, he wouldn't stop until I couldn't walk. 

"Okay," I choked out, shrinking back against the triage curtain. My voice shook violently. "I’ll do it. I’ll let her check me."

Dad paused. He slowly buckled his belt. 

Nurse Martha tried to block the exam room door, but Mom shoved right past her. I climbed onto the exam table, the paper crinkling loudly underneath me, and pulled my knees tightly to my chest. 

Before Martha even had time to wash her hands, Mom pulled out her phone. She pressed the microphone icon on WhatsApp. 

"Dear brothers and sisters," Mom sighed into the phone. "You just wouldn’t believe the trials I've gone through today. All I wanted was for Abbie to sing a little song of thanks to the Lord, and she flew into a rage. She threatened to disown me."

I squeezed my eyes shut, digging my nails into my palms. 

"I brought her to the clinic because she hasn't been herself," Mom continued, her voice trembling perfectly on cue. "And she says she never wants to see me again. Why has the Lord given me such a harsh burden?" 

She paused the recording, angled her phone high, widened her eyes to make them look properly teary, and snapped a selfie. Sent directly to the Grace Fellowship Inner Circle. 

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. Once. Twice. Then a constant, vibrating stream. 

I didn’t even need to look. I knew exactly what they were typing. Rebellious child. Needs the rod. We are praying for your strength, Bethany. 

Months ago, I tried putting the group chat on 'Do Not Disturb.' When mom checked my settings and found out, she dragged me into the living room. She forced me to record a video, bowing to the camera, apologizing to every single member for blocking out their "spiritual guidance." Next time, I'll make you knock on their doors and beg for forgiveness in person, she had promised. 

I had nowhere to hide. Not even on my own phone. 

"What else can I do?" Mom recorded a new voice note. "She’s my own flesh and blood. I’ll keep praying for her, keep loving her through this dark season. I just believe that in time, she’ll be as pious and grateful as Hannah. I won’t give up on her."

It was actually sickening. 

It was always Hannah. 

I stared at the sterile ceiling tiles, the past twenty years flashing through my mind. They had left me in rural Tennessee with my grandparents when I was barely a year old. They went off to work, and by the time they came back to visit, I was six. But they weren't alone. They were holding five-year-old Hannah. 

She's too little, she needs to be raised by our side, they told my grandparents. So they took her back to the city and left me behind again. 

I was bullied. I fought severe depression. I had to drop out and repeat a year. I studied until I passed out at my desk just to get a scholarship to this school, only to end up in the exact same freshman class as my skipped-a-grade little sister. 

"Scoot down, honey," Martha said softly, snapping her gloves on. 

I slid down. The cold metal speculum pinched. "Sss—ah!" I hissed out loud, flinching hard against the sharp, sudden pain.

Mom instantly hit record again. 

"You all wouldn’t believe it," she whispered into the mic. "She’s making noises during the exam. Shameful. Just shameful."

Martha froze. She pulled back and ripped her gloves off, tossing them into the bin. 

"That is enough," Martha said.

"Excuse me?" Mom snapped, lowering her phone. 

"Ms. Reed, your daughter has never been sexually active," Martha said flatly, standing between me and Mom. "Demanding a pelvic exam on a virgin is cruel and entirely unnecessary. Make no mistake, she is in pain right now. You need to watch your words."

Mom blinked. Then, a twisted smile spread across her face. 

She wasn't guilty. She was thrilled. 

Martha helped me sit up. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" she asked quietly. 

I just shook my head.

Mom stepped around Martha and patted my shoulder roughly. "See? I told you. You’re not totally far gone. There’s still hope for you." She dug into her purse. "Now get your phone out."

I stared at her blankly. 

"Go in the group chat and thank everyone for their prayers," she ordered. "Tell them you’re going to work on being a better daughter. Be polite about it."

I didn't say a word. I slid off the table, pulled my jeans up, and grabbed my backpack. I walked straight past her, out of the exam room, completely ignoring Dad waiting by the door. 

I pulled my phone out as I walked down the hall. I opened the Grace Fellowship chat. There were fifty new messages. 

Sister Ruth: "If she’s having these kinds of fleshly urges, maybe she shouldn’t be in college at all. Find her a good Christian husband, Bethany. Settle her down."

Sister Ruth: "Actually, I know a faith-based deliverance camp out in the hills. Works absolute miracles for rebellious teens. Takes the devil right out of them. I can send you the info if you want."

Right beneath it, mom’s reply popped up. 

Bethany Reed: "Yes, Ruth. Please send it over immediately."

A deliverance camp. A lockdown facility in the middle of nowhere. 

I stared at the screen. The constant stream of judgment, the fake prayers, the suffocating net they’d thrown over my entire existence. 

My thumb hovered over the top right corner. Group Info. 

I scrolled to the very bottom. 

Leave Group. 

Tap. 

Abigail Reed has left the chat.

I shoved the phone in my pocket. 

"Abbie Reed!" Mom’s screech echoed down the hallway behind me, ringing with absolute fury. "You get back here! How dare you leave the fellowship group!"