It was a plastic baby doll that looked like it had been violently excavated from a muddy dumpster. Its synthetic blonde hair was chopped into jagged, uneven spikes. Its plastic face was smeared with dark blue ink marks, resembling crude facial tattoos.
But the most horrifying detail was its left arm. The arm was entirely missing, snapped off at the shoulder joint, leaving a jagged, hollow hole in the plastic torso.
Lily blinked. She held the broken, filthy toy in her small hands. The radiant, hopeful smile that had been on her face just seconds ago froze, then slowly crumbled.
“Figures,” Tyler sneered from the sofa, taking a long sip of his bourbon. He didn’t even try to hide his amusement. He looked at the broken toy, then looked directly at me. “It’s a fitting gift, really. Poor kids’ toys for the poor side of the family. It’s practical. Teaches them to appreciate what they get.”
My mother let out a soft, melodic giggle, taking a sip of her mimosa. She didn’t reprimand him. She leaned into the cruelty.
“Oh, Tyler, be nice,” my mother said, her voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. “But really, Elena, you can’t expect us to buy her a brand new American Girl doll when she’s just going to ruin it. It’s a hand-me-down from a charity bin. That’s what kids who aren’t good enough to appreciate nice things deserve.”
I stared at the two of them. My own flesh and blood.
I looked down at Lily.
