Breanne quickly crouched to pick it up, cradling it like a baby and gently rocking it before the stunned crowd.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, little baby! Mommy didn't mean to hurt you," she cooed to the doll, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Don't worry, tiny baby, your auntie's got you."
Breanne's bizarre performance only confirmed my worst fears. Many people were confused about why Breanne was treating the doll like a baby, but no one questioned it. They could feel something coming.
"Breanne Telder!" I spat, the name laced with razor-sharp hatred, each syllable grinding out between clenched teeth.
I could feel the tether within me snapping. A line was crossed, and I wasn’t sure I could pull myself back.
And I didn’t fight the urge pulsating, demanding retribution for our pain.
Without hesita
