[Flashback: 16 years before ME1]

(TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ABUSE, SUICIDE)

The funeral was over. Shepard didn't have to face the looming strangers any more, or force herself to cry just so that they would think she cared. She could escape to her bedroom and crawl beneath the duvet. She could finally sleep, knowing that he would never again come to visit her late at night with his poisonous touch and the madness in his eyes. He was gone. The house was quiet. Only Mrs Carrick remained, sleeping alone in the room down the hall. Shepard hated her for her silence. She hated her for knowing everything and doing nothing. But the real object of her disgust was no longer around, and so she felt that the world was a little brighter just for that.

And she slept. She slept so deeply that the nightmares could not even reach her. She slept better than she had in a long time. When she arose, she found that one shower was enough to make her feel clean. She didn't need to scrub her skin raw to get the filth off. She dried herself and stood before the mirror to examine her reflection. Her body had changed so much in the last year. Her hips had filled out and her legs looked more defined, her breasts were swelling to a new size. She had lost a lot of the baby fat around her face and stomach, lending a kind of maturity to her appearance. Inside, she felt like a child still, but her exterior denied it.

Once she was dressed, Shepard walked slowly out into the hallway. The house felt different, too. Everything did. It was as if an evil spell had been broken, a curse lifted, and the miserable place that she had called home for the past five years was now born anew. She wandered downstairs and looked for Mrs Carrick. The middle-aged foster mother was not in the lounge in front of the television screen like she usually was. The kitchen diner was empty, too. For some reason the lights had been left on overnight. Thinking it odd, Shepard began to search more intently. A check of every room revealed that Mrs Carrick was not in the house, but the front door was locked and her key card was in the slot. The car was parked on the balcony and was coated in a layer of frost. Shepard ventured down into the basement, ignoring her fear of the dark, confined room. It was the only place left to search.

And it was there that she found Mrs Carrick. The lady was hanging by her neck from the vent in the ceiling, colourless, limp, and still as the morning air. Shepard stared with disbelieving eyes at the horrific sight. She could not overcome her paralysing fright in order to move, even though her mind was screaming for her to get out. There was a dining chair strewn on its side on the floor – kicked away by the woman just moments before she choked to death – and an empty bottle of gin. It was clear that she had been unable to cope with the loss of her husband. Despite the way he had dominated and abused her throughout the years, Mrs Carrick's heart and soul were bound to that evil man. And now they were both gone.

Shepard's breath came rushing back to her with such force that she doubled over and began to vomit violently. Through her tears she caught one last glimpse of the lifeless face suspended before her, and then she stumbled back up the stairs as fast as she could. She fought her way to the front door, throwing up repeatedly as she tried to get it open. Cold air whipped across her face, chilling the burning of her lips, making her shiver, and she wretched once more. The door slammed shut behind her in the wind. She was locked out. But she knew that she would never step foot in that house again. She would never see those people again – the man and woman who had been her only family for so long. She was free of the pain, the cruelty, the fear, and the degradation that had filled her every waking moment since joining that "family" as a child. She was free, yes. But she was now completely alone.