The next morning, Griggs noticed.
I was slower at chores, my small body still aching from the beating. He saw the hesitation in my step, the faint defiance in my eyes, and it infuriated him.
The cane came down hard. Once. Twice. Again.
"Don't look at me like that, boy!" he spat, his face red with rage. "You're nothing. Less than nothing!"
Each strike cut deep, but I refused to cry. The boy inside me wanted to wail, to collapse, but I held him upright, my teeth clenched.
It wasn't courage. It was defiance. A refusal to give Griggs the satisfaction of seeing me broken.
But later, when the pain settled into my bones, I wondered if I could keep standing tomorrow.