My Mom’s work keep me-us in that room. Now that she was gone I was seen as worthless, just as she’d predicted I would be.
I don’t know why Roman spared me the role of my mother but he did. Later I heard whispers that he let me stay because I stood up to him, I’d stayed and stood my ground. The part longing for a farther hoped me saw me as his child and saved me in some way. That he’d seem something of himself in me. It turned my stomach whenever I heard that.
That room of ours was a commodity, me in that room, alone was a waste. I got put where all other children where kept. It housed eleven other people, give or take, mostly around my age, boy and girls. The basement wasn’t kept to any standard, and no one had ever bothered to make it hospitable Walls were crumbling and the ceiling was caving it.
But the children had made it theirs. They’d separated areas with whatever they could, boxes, old doors. They were resourceful.