Free Illusions (The Missing #1) by A. M. Irvin

significant one by the looks of the damage. How had I not noticed this before? In my seemingly careful inspection of my cell, how was it possible that this was the first time I had seen the burnt wood?
    I bit the inside of my cheek, peeling away the skin with my teeth.
    Fire. Burning. Smoke everywhere. Searching for a way out. Finding none. Trapped. Burning. Smoke and chaos. No way out. No way out.
    No way out!
    I blinked and rubbed at my eyes.
    But I wasn’t here.
    I was somewhere else.
    “Is this why you’re never home?” I asked, slowly walking into the room. I had been confused when Dad had driven me out to the old Sandler farm. He had parked his pick-up truck around the back of the barn and told me to follow him.
    Dad had been home less and less lately. I missed him. He was a lot nicer than Mother. When he was home he sometimes ran interference. Even if it was just to change the subject and get her focused on something else. Mother wasn’t so horrible when Dad was home.
    But he was gone a lot now, often times leaving before I woke up and not coming home until I was in bed. I had asked Mother where he was all the time, but she had ignored me.
    Which was better than the yelling.
    Or being locked in my room.
    Dad smiled and it looked sad. “I have to work, Nora. This is my job,” he explained, walking to a workbench in the middle of the room. I had no idea what my dad did to make money. But now I could see.
    I ran my hands along the smooth leather on the table. “This is really pretty,” I said quietly, lisping and slurred. I hated how my voice sounded because of the split in my palate. I was teased for it both at school and at home. Mother would tell me to not talk if I couldn’t do it properly.
    It was better to be silent anyway.
    But Dad listened. Sometimes. So I felt okay talking to him.
    “I just finished this one yesterday for a man in Shenandoah County. He has a horse farm out there and asked for a custom saddle for his daughter.”
    I could hear the pride in Dad’s voice. I was happy he was sharing it with me.
    The saddle was really nice. The nicest thing I had ever seen. I wondered what it would be like to sit on it. Like most young girls I dreamed of having my own horse. Though I would never say it out loud. My dreams were best kept inside where they couldn’t be ruined by Mother’s harsh words. But Mother wasn’t here. So maybe it was safe to reveal a secret of my locked away heart.
    “Maybe I could use one of your saddles sometime. Maybe I could ride a horse,” I said softly.
    Dad didn’t say anything. He straightened the tools on the bench, lining them up just so. I waited for him to answer, but he never did.
    “We have to pick Rosie up from ballet. We should get going.”
    It was always about Rosie.
    In an unusual fit of rage, I picked up a crafting knife and threw it on the floor. Dad frowned. “Why would you do that, Nora?” he demanded, and I knew that he was angry.
    I wanted to tell him that I was sick of our family revolving around a girl who wasn’t even related to us. I wanted to explain how mean she was to me. How sneaky and deceptive she could be.
    But I didn’t say any of that. What would it matter?
    “I’m sorry,” I muttered, hiding my face.
    Dad didn’t say anything else. He put the tool back on the bench and ushered me out of his workroom.
    I wished I could hug him.
    I wished he’d put his arm around me and treat me like a daughter.
    Like a person.
    Wishing was something I did best.
    Memories of my father were few and far between. It had been years since he had died and what little interaction we once had began to fade with time. Just one more thing I had lost.
    His death had seemed almost like an afterthought. Mother informed me one day after school that Dad had died and would never come home.
    I had tried to ask her questions, but she wouldn’t have it.
    “Will we plan his funeral? Where will he be buried?” I asked with tears running down my face.
    Mother’s face