I haven’t heard her cry since we were ten. I wonder if she knew I could hear her. I wonder if she cared. She hasn’t talked to me at all about how badly she misses her mother. I don’t exactly expect her to—we’ve never been the type to get too deep into feelings, being Acostas and everything, but I thought a situation this big might demand a little change on that front. When Penelope first disappeared, Margaret was all about staying close. But as the days passed, so did her moods. I can’t help but feel like there’s something she’s hiding from me. Is it grief or something else? I think about the weird bursts of laughter coming from her room last night, followed an hour or so later by the crying. I wonder how much longer she’ll act this way; how much longer I’ll have to face my own mind alone in the quiet of this enormous house. I hope not for much longer. When morning comes, Margaret doesn’t show up to breakfast. If my father notices, he doesn’t mention it, instead keeping his eyes on the newspaper spread out over the oak table, a scone and steaming cup of coffee nearby.
What do You think about The Women In The Walls (2016)?
