“Why do I have to leave, Mama?” I look up at my mom, who is fixing my outfit and smoothing my hair. “It’s not forever. Just until we can control these dreams, okay?” I nod. She told me that I’m going on a long vacation by myself. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here. My dad walks in and clears his throat. I rush over to him and give him a big hug. He tenses, and doesn’t make a move to wrap his arms around me. He didn’t even hug me on my birthday, either. I just turned seven, and my parents seem to be rewarding me with a vacation. I pull away from the hug, and fresh tears spill down my face. I grab my mom’s hand and pull her into the kitchen, where my dad can’t hear. “Please don’t make me go,” I ask, my voice shaky. “I don’t want to leave you and Dad. Let me stay with you, please. I’ll be super good! I’ll clean my room, and I’ll do the dishes and I’ll-“

“Nala,” Mom says, her face softening. “I’m sorry.” Im sobbing now, my new dress soaked with tears. “But-“

The front door opens, and I peek around the corner to see a tall, big man. He looks scary, as if he could pick me up and snap me in half. The thought makes my stomach turn. “Where is she?” The man demands, and I instantly know he’s talking about me. I try to run away to the bathroom, but he must have heard my heavy footsteps. He grabs me before I have even gotten far. I kick and scream and claw and cry. “Put me down!” I yell, clawing at his arms. He makes no move to put me down. Instead, he walks over to the front door, opens it, and plops me down outside the door. He shuts it, and I only hear muffled voices outside the door. I hear the occasional, “Are you sure?” And sometimes the, “She’ll be fine.” A tear drips down my face and falls to the floor. The door creaks open, and my mom pulls me into a small hug. I bury my face in her stomach, hoping the scary man can’t see me crying. He picks me up again, and I scream. Loud. “Mommy! Please!” I look insane, frantic. I don’t care. I want to go back to Mama. “Please! Put me down!” He doesn’t. Instead, he opens the car door and throws me in. I don’t bother fastening my seatbelt. He climbs in the front seat, and starts driving. I claw and punch the window, still screaming my parents’ names. “Quiet,” he snaps. “Try to sleep. It’s three hours until we reach the asylum.”