Maggie Greene-Rhee: In The Before
"little girl, little girl
your life is calling"

1999

Maggie faintly remembered a time when she'd been her father's only daughter. It was a simpler time in her opinion. Things had been rough, but at least she could understand them. And then things had gotten even rougher when her mom died, but it was okay because she still had her dad, and he had promised to never leave her or let her down. And she'd believed him.

Then he met Annette. And suddenly, he was telling Maggie that she would have a new mom and a new brother. Maggie didn't like it. She barely knew this Annette woman, and baby Shawn never did anything but cry and whine. She didn't want a new family. She wanted her mom and the life she'd always known. But she quickly learned that life isn't about getting what you want.

She couldn't remember how it had felt to see her dad marry a new woman. She couldn't remember how it had felt to find out that they were having a new baby either. She couldn't even remember what Annette had looked like while she was heavily pregnant with Beth, even though there were a few pictures stashed away in the family albums. The only memory Maggie had before Beth came along and changed everything was… well, Beth coming along. And changing everything.

It had been a dreary day in late August, she recalled. The stifling humidity was accompanied by a lot of rain and thunder throughout the whole week, and the day that Annette went to the hospital, it was storming heavily. There were loud and long bursts of thunder, bright flashes of lightning and strong gusts of wind along with the sheets of rain that poured down from above. But Hershel had assured everyone that it would all be okay. He'd promised that things would calm down once the newest Greene child joined them. And Maggie had believed him.

The next day, she was sitting in the hospital room and staring out the window at the passing storm clouds in the sky while her dad and his new wife doted on newborn Bethany. They even had little Shawn visiting, brought in by Uncle Lloyd and eight-year-old Arnold, to meet his new sister and cuddle with his mom. Maggie kept herself in the corner, watching with narrowed eyes and a tummy full of resentment.

Even nearly twenty years later, she could vividly recall the anger that had settled inside of her that day. Admittedly, it was mostly childish jealousy. Maggie was used to being her dad's baby —the only child—and she was a daddy's girl through-and-through. Having to share him with Shawn had made her miserable. She already hated her new sister for stealing Daddy away and greedily gobbling up what little remained of his love and attention. And having to listen to Shawn repeatedly ask "when baby come home?" sparked a new rage to life inside her.

It didn't last long, though. Maggie was a stubborn child and everyone who met her was always quick to point it out. So when it came to this, there was no way she'd back down. She clutched onto her six-year-old's resentment like a lifesaver and tried desperately to keep it afloat. But it was awfully hard once she got to hold Beth in her arms and look down into her stupid little chubby face.

Hershel sat her down in a chair by the window and carefully placed the swaddled newborn in her waiting arms. He guided her hands to support Beth's weak neck and all Maggie could think about was how fragile this little thing in her lap was. For a second, she wondered if she could be trusted to hold something so frail and precious.

She could still remember the moment that all the anger melted away as though it had never existed to begin with.

When she actually held her baby sister and watched those big blue eyes open wide to stare up at her with fascination, all the jealousy and resentment was gone. And just like that, it was replaced with something that felt like a purpose. It filled Maggie with a sense of determination. She couldn't quite explain it, but it was almost like she knew she would have to be Beth's voice. Somehow, she could see the soft and pure innocence that emanated from the tiny newborn, and she could sense how it would need to be nurtured and molded into strength.

They might've had different moms, but they shared a daddy and that meant they were both half-Hershel; they were one and the same. And she knew that she was the only one who could properly guide little Beth Greene through the intricacies of the dark and frightening world that lay before her.

She was her sister. She was her strength. Maggie had a duty now.

Hershel leaned over her shoulder as she stared down at the squirming bundle in her small arms, watching with pride in his eyes. And he told Maggie softly, "You might not have the same momma, but you're both Greene girls. We're a family now, Mags. You're a big sister, and now you have two little Greene's looking up to you. I'm gonna need your help in teachin' them how to be strong and smart and kind... You think you're up to the challenge?"

Maggie nodded and continued staring down at little Bethany Anne Greene with a rigid expression. Her tiny brain was running a hundred miles a minute trying to process all the new emotions she was feeling. She wanted to hate this baby, but… she was her blood. Maggie could never resent someone that was a part of her.

"Remember what your momma used to say?" Hershel whispered. "'We all got jobs to do.' Well, this is your job now… to be the best big sister you can be. And get Bethany ready for that big scary world out there. Ain't nobody stronger than you, Mags. But we can make sure your baby sister turns out just as strong."

For the rest of her life, Maggie would never forget the sound of her mom's voice reminding her of the responsibility she held. And from the day Beth was born and onward, she had her daddy's voice echoing the same sentiment at the back of her head.

She had to make sure Beth grew up to be a realGreene: strong and kind and smart and too damn stubborn to let the world hold her down. And Hershel had told her she could do it; he'd convinced her that, together, she and Beth could be unstoppable. He'd convinced her that the Greene Family was an impenetrable force to be reckoned with.

And Maggie had believed him.

2000

Uncle Lloyd had always been the more abrasive of the two Greene brothers. Where Hershel was forgiving and patient and sympathetic, Lloyd was rash and outspoken and stubborn as a mule, with a firm belief that second chances were earnedand notgiven. Sometimes, Hershel liked to say that Maggie had inherited her uncle's stubbornness as well as his pessimistic attitude. Maggie didn't mind this comparison—her uncle was smart and he'd taught her a lot, and despite his rough edges, he was a good man through-and-through, dedicated and honest and loyal to a fault. He wasn't crass, he just didn't believe in wasting his time on sparing people's feelings for the sake of being polite. Maggie respected that.

As a child, there was nothing she loved more than hanging out with Uncle Lloyd and her cousin. Arnold's momma died from a complication during childbirth—years before Maggie was born—so he'd never even known her, and unlike Hershel, Lloyd had never quite moved on from his first and only wife. Maggie was almost grateful for that because it was bad enough having to welcome Annette into her life, she didn't want to worry about sharing her family with a new aunt as well. After Annette moved in and gave birth to Beth, Uncle Lloyd and Arnold had become Maggie's escape. And Lloyd was always more than happy to look after his niece, eager to teach her new things and watch her interact with Arnold. Hershel had said something once about his brother always wanting a daughter but never having one and sometimes, Maggie thought he treated her the way he would've treated his own daughter. She didn't mind; she liked feeling like the only Greene girl every now and then.

For the first five years or so after Hershel married Annette, Maggie felt damn near invisible. Lloyd and Arnold helped alleviate that feeling, even though her uncle was constantly telling her to "get over it" and "get used to how things are because everything is temporary and that's just life." As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't quite follow his advice until she was about nine or ten years old. That childish resentment latched on and made her a victim of her own jealousy when it came to accepting her new stepmom. Nonetheless, she cherished the moments she got with her uncle and cousin during those early years of Beth's childhood.

For a very brief time, Maggie's life had felt close to what she thought it was supposed to be.

Shortly after she turned six, she started learning how to ride horses. Her daddy had taught her the basics and even led her around on one of the older mares in their stable a few times before Beth was born, but then he and Annette had gotten too busy with the new baby and the farm and the church, and Maggie's lessons quickly fell to the wayside. So when Lloyd offered to give her the practice she so desperately desired shortly after her seventh birthday, she eagerly grasped at the opportunity. This led to several weeks of riding alongside Arnold out in the open field by the barn.

On one particular day that would stick out prominently in Maggie's mind for the rest of her life, she'd been saddled up on the back of a young and rambunctious brown filly. She was trotting happily beside Arnold and his big grey gelding, keeping a safe and steady pace with her hands firmly grasping the reins. And then, the next thing she knew, the filly was speeding up and passing Arnold, taking them farther into the open field than Maggie was comfortable with and leaving her cousin in the dust. She tugged on the reins and desperately tried to slow down, but the panic quickly overtook her and she was reflexively digging her heels into the horse's sides. Within seconds, the horse was galloping forward at a terrifying speed and Maggie had lost all control. She could hear Arnold shouting from behind her and then Uncle Lloyd's shouts, too. They were telling her to rein up, to slow down, to command the filly to stop. But she was past the point of remembering anything she'd learned about stopping.

She finally managed to yank the reins back harshly and then she was being thrown from the saddle, tumbling off the side like a ragdoll and landing on the ground with a whoompf that knocked all the air from her tiny lungs. Before she could blink and comprehend what happened, she felt a rough kick to her side. She was left lying on the ground in the fetal position, crying loudly and struggling to breathe. The fear was still coursing through her veins and she was almost certain she'd just had a near-death experience.

Then there was a gruff voice in her ears and a big strong pair of hands grasping her under the armpits and hoisting her up to her feet. "Hey now, yer alrigh'. Ain't nothin' broken, just a little kick to the side. You'll survive."

She blinked away tears and sniffled, holding back more sobs and cries of pain. To be honest, it hurt, but it was quickly fading. She was mostly scared and yearning for comfort—she'd just been thrown off a horse and kicked, after all. She felt like someone should've been prepared to immediately coddle her.

"I—I… it - it kicked me-e-e-e!" She wailed, more tears pouring down her cheeks.

But Uncle Lloyd merely scoffed. He brushed the dirt off her back and straightened her shirt, then clapped his big hand down firmly on her shoulder. His voice was completely devoid of any trace of sympathy or pity, and she knew better than to expect a father's comfort from him.

"Alrigh' now, suck it up an' walk it off. Ya know what they say: when the horse bucks ya outta the saddle, ya brush it off an' get back on," he said. He wiped away her tears with a calloused finger and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Ain't no time fer tears around here, Mags. Yer a big girl now. Don't be a baby."

She sniffled and stuck out her bottom lip. "But—"

"Hey," he cut her off and stared down into her eyes with a stern look that immediately halted her sniffling. "Yer a Greene. Now act like one."

She was too shocked to argue or whine or even continue crying. Instead, she nodded her little head and wiped away the rest of her tears. And she got back into the saddle and continued her afternoon of riding with Arnold, despite the fact that she no longer trusted the filly carrying her weight.

And even when a big purple bruise appeared on her side and left her ribs aching for days to come, she didn't complain. She didn't let anyone see her weakness. She simply reminded herself that she was a Greene.

And part of being a Greene was learning to suffer silently.

2002

When Maggie was nine, she got grounded for punching a boy at school. Subsequently, she was made a prisoner in her own home, bound indoors and forbidden from playing outside or wandering any farther than her bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. After three days, she thought she might go insane. In an effort to keep herself entertained, she began exploring every nook and cranny within the second floor of the big house she'd grown up in. And to her surprise, she'd been so busy all these years with chores and games and outdoor activities that she'd actually missed out on some of the architectural secrets of her own home.

One day, while her dad and Annette were working outside, she figured out how to reach the string that opened the attic. And then, full of determination and a desperate thirst for adventure, she climbed the dusty old ladder and ventured into the uppermost part of the farmhouse. She was disappointed to find nothing but boxes of boring old stuff and stacks of paintings and pictures collecting dust. She got a little excited when she heard the scuttling of tiny feet and caught a glimpse of a few rats scurrying into hiding, but other than that she found nothing of interest.

But then she shoved back a bunch of boxes—in search of the rats, no doubt—and squeezed her way back into a tiny corner until she'd found a new opening that hadn't been visible before. It peeked out at her from behind another stack of boxes, tempting and intriguing, barely visible to the naked eye. Her curiosity led her onward and she ended up pushing aside all the obstructions in her path and brushing away cobwebs and dust to reveal a wide space that led down intothe walls of the house.

She'd always been fearless —or reckless, as her daddy liked to call it—and this time was no different. Without Annette there to fuss about rabies and tetanus and Black Widow spiders, Maggie was free to hoist her small body over the half-wall barrier and climb right down into the dark passage. It was obvious that no one had discovered this secret passage for several years, maybe even several decades, as it appeared desperately untouched by anything other than time. The dust stung her eyes and made her cough and the layers of cobwebs and spiderwebs clung to her arms and legs, but within seconds, she was placing her feet down upon a floor that shouldn't have logically been there. She paused and looked around, squinting through the pitch black darkness, and tried to make sense of how she could be… inside the walls.

Then she heard a familiar high-pitched voice and a moment later, the sounds of tiny feet ascending the ladder and stomping across the attic floor. She bolted back up and over the barrier and stepped away just in time to see little Shawn wandering around the middle of the dusty room, his back turned toward her. When he heard her footsteps, he spun around and gave her a quizzical look.

"What're you doin'?!" He spotted the boxes she'd pushed aside and in an effort to cover her tracks, Maggie quickly shoved them back into place. "What—what's back there, Mags?"

She rolled her eyes and urged him away from the boxes and the secret opening, herding him toward the ladder and back downstairs. She knew that if he was up here, her parents wouldn't be far behind.

"C'mon—we're not s'posed ta be up here," she said.

"Then how come you—"

"Don't be a snitch, Shawn. I'm already grounded."

He didn't speak a word of it. In fact, Maggie was pretty sure he forgot about it entirely. He never tried to venture back up to the attic and he never asked her about it again.

And four days later, when she revisited the hidden opening with a flashlight in hand, no one interrupted her for at least an hour. She had plenty of time to explore the intricate maze hiding within the walls of the Greene Family Farmhouse. She found a lot of interesting things too, including a boarded-up and painted-over opening that appeared to have once been a secret door from the dining room into a wide-open space behind the dining room walls. Though what that space or all those secret hallways and doors had once been made for, she couldn't figure out.

She kept the discreet little opening hidden from view in the attic, covered by piles of boxes and paintings, and never spoke a word of it to anyone else. Not even her daddy. And she didn't venture back down into the depths of the inner walls until several years later.

Some secrets, Maggie knew, were better kept secret... and there was no one she trusted more than herself.

2003

Every spring and summer since Beth was born, Annette insisted on planting patches of flowers and vegetables in her own little personal garden behind the house. For the first few years, Maggie refused to take part. But then Annette wore her down and convinced her to join and after that, Maggie couldn't remember why she'd ever refused to help. She found a relaxing ease in gardening, and when her daisies popped up from the soil and bloomed bright and beautiful under the summer sun, she felt a pride that she couldn't find anywhere else. For those brief hours in the garden, she would forget about her resentment and jealousy towards Daddy's new wife. Sometimes, she even felt like she had a real mom again.

Once Beth had reached the age that she could walk around and help, she joined the two ladies in the garden and did her best to help them plant. But more often that not, she just made a mess. She was still too young to comprehend what they were doing and understand what it meant to be gentle and patient, and more often than not she wasn't interested in doing anything except digging in the dirt for bugs. Maggie would grow frustrated, but Annette would retain her endless patience. After a while, she would send Beth back inside to be occupied by Hershel and Shawn.

And in those spare moments when no one else was around, Maggie would grow to love and respect Annette as a mother. She didn't particularly want to, but some things were out of her control. She chose to take advantage of those brief moments and speak the thoughts that constantly plagued her unanswered. She told herself that she'd take her stepmother's words with a grain of salt and nothing more. But when it came down to it, Annette had never told her anything but the truth while giving exactly the advice that she needed to hear at the same time.

On one particular spring day that stuck out in Maggie's memory, she'd been overly frustrated with her little sister. She couldn't recall exactly what it was, but she'd been ranting to Annette about how she wished Beth wouldn't be such a crybaby and would just suck it up and be tough. It was simple enough for her, so she couldn't understand why it was so difficult for Beth. But it seemed like the little blonde girl was different—so much different that sometimes, Maggie wondered if she should be a Greene at all.

"She's too soft," Maggie complained, patting dirt over her seeds while beads of sweat formed across her forehead. "She's such a baby sometimes."

"She isa baby, Maggie," Annette said, focusing on the little packet of seeds in her hand as she opened them. "She's only four. Give her time... Trust me, she's just as much a Greene as you are. But everyone is different, and some people require more patience."

Maggie sighed and grumbled, "I guess… but I was never like that when I was little. What if she stays like that? What if she grows up weak an' soft?"

Annette furrowed her brow and looked over at the eldest Greene child thoughtfully. A frown appeared on her face but Maggie kept her eyes on the dirt before her.

"And what makes you so sure that weakness and softness are the same thing?" Annette asked softly.

Maggie mulled over this question for a long moment while the two ladies continued working in silence. Then she turned to look at her stepmom and responded, "'Cause if yer soft, it means yer weak. If you let everything bother you and make you cry, the world's just gonna roll right over you. It'll chew you up an' spit you out."

She wasn't entirely sure where she'd gotten this mindset. Maybe it was something she'd overheard her daddy and her uncle say so many times that it had stuck with her. For all she knew, it had been ingrained in her head since before she'd been born. It seemed to make sense to her, though. It felt like the most logical conclusion.

Even at ten years old, Maggie was well aware of how cruel and unforgiving the world could actually be—especially to those who were weak. And she didn't like weakness. She didn't like feeling weak. More than that, she didn't like people thinking she was weak. Like when some of the boys at school would refuse to let her play with them just because she was a girl and they insisted that being a girl somehow made her a 'sissy.' She'd punched two boys for saying it already (and gotten in serious trouble), but that hadn't stopped it. She couldn't understand it because she was obviously tougher than any of the other girls in her class—like the girls who wore all pink and carried unicorn-shaped backpacks, the girls who cried when they fell down at recess even though everybody could see them crying, the girls who let the boys pick on them and didn't fight back, the girls who said Maggie was too 'gross' or 'weird' to be friends with them. And she knew that Beth had the same disadvantage simply by being born female, and Maggie feared that her little sister would face harsher bullying and more exclusion by letting her inherent weakness show through so blatantly. And she couldn't help but worry that if the handful of jerks at school could bowl over a Greene girl so easily, then how much more cruel would the real world be?

She just wanted Beth to be prepared. Maggie didn't want to see her hurt, and she was terribly afraid that her little sister's bright spirit would be quickly crushed if she didn't develop a hard outer shell to protect it.

"The world is never quite so black-and-white as that, sweetheart," Annette said, turning her attention back to the seeds and dirt in her gloved hands. "You're a tough girl—very tough. I know those kids at school can be awfully cruel, but they are not the whole world. And they don't see the things that matter. They're kids. And I hate ta say it, but none of those kids will actually grow into the people they're meant to be until after y'all are out of school entirely. So they'll be cruel and they'll be ignorant and they'll be… judgmental. And they'll underestimate you. They'll underestimate Beth too, and Shawn. And they'll never know just how strong you really are. But when it comes down to it, bein' soft in this scary world is a blessing. If you try ta squeeze it all out of yer little sister, harden her up an' force all the weakness t'be locked up deep down… well then, that doesn't make you much better than the rest of the world, don't you think?"

Maggie pursed her lips tightly and tried to concentrate on digging a small hole for her next batch of seeds, but all she could think about was how annoying it was that Annette always knew exactly what was going through her head. She wanted to argue, but what was the point? She knew the other woman was right. She also knew that her daddy would most likely tell her the exact same thing. Even despite the fact that he'd spent the first six years of her life telling her that she had no other choice but to be strong and tough and resilient.

"It sounds dumb," she started quietly, unable to look over and meet Annette's gaze. "But… I'm jus' scared for her, I guess. I wanna protect 'er but… I know I can't protect her forever. She has to learn how ta be strong all on her own. Like I did."

She could feel the older woman's eyes on her but she still didn't look up. She was digging her hole deeper and deeper, nervously pawing at the earth for the sake of keeping her hands busy. Then Annette was reaching over and placing her gloved hands atop Maggie's to still them, and when Maggie looked up and met her stepmother's thoughtful gaze, she paused.

Annette smiled softly and her voice never took on even the slightest hint of a condescending tone. She was endlessly patient, and for that Maggie was grateful. She'd never been one to respond well towards negative judgment, or judgment of any kind for that matter. She was beginning to learn that Annette never judged—she simply helped where she could and offered support when she lacked an answer. Maggie wondered if that's what mommas were supposed to do, or if she'd just gotten really lucky with her dad's choice in a second wife.

"Slow down there—that's too far. Your flowers won't sprout from all the way down there," Annette said. Then she raised her eyebrows and added, "There's a saying that my momma used to tell me: 'seeds sown too deeply won't grow.' And it took me a long time t'figure out what it meant… What do you think it means?"

Maggie blinked and furrowed her brow but didn't look away, all the gears clicking around and moving inside her head. She gave it her best guess and said, "You can't… force somebody ta be somethin' they're not… or else they won't grow?"

Annette smirked, but not in a way that made Maggie feel stupid. It was almost like admiration, or maybe even respect. For a moment, Maggie felt like Annette might've been looking at her in a slightly different light than before.

"Well, you're not wrong," Annette said. "But once again, it's not so black-and-white. Nothing in this world ever really is, if I'm being honest with you. And I am—you're a very smart young lady. And yes, you're very tough. But you're soft, too."

Maggie frowned and opened her mouth to argue but Annette stopped her before she could.

"And that's not a bad thing, Maggie. You're kind and loving and caring and you want to protect your family—that's admirable. That's strong," she continued confidently. "And you may think Beth is too weak or too soft, or maybe she cries too much and whines a little too often… but she's got the same blood running through her veins as you do. She's got the same potential ta be a smart, courageous, selfless young woman. It's true that you can't protect her forever—Lord knows your daddy an' I would give anything to have the ability to protect you kids forever—but you can teach her how to protect herself."

Maggie thought on these words for a moment before she said uncertainly, "So I need ta teach her how to be strong, but… I can't force her to be strong."

Annette pressed her lips together and looked away thoughtfully, then smiled warmly and began filling the hole that Maggie had dug a little too deep. "You're close. Except it's not so much about teaching her as it is… watering her."

Maggie looked at the older woman quizzically at first, then Annette was patting down the soil in the small crevice and placing a few seeds amidst the pile. As she covered it with the rest of the dirt, she explained, "If we bury these seeds too far down, they won't be able to push through the weight of the soil to find the water and sunlight. They'll climb out, they'll find their way and they'll grow—but not if you plant them so deep that they have no idea the sun exists above the ground."

Maggie chewed on her lower lip and contemplated this new perspective. She tried to imagine Beth as a tiny flower sprouting up in the garden. It wasn't such a difficult image to conjure. Shawn, on the other hand, was only really imaginable as some kind of weed. She smirked at that thought but it quickly faded.

"'Seeds sown too deeply... won't grow,'" she repeated slowly, letting the words linger on her lips and roll over and over in her mind. She still wasn't sure she completely understood the meaning.

"That's right," Annette said, resuming with her own flowers while still gazing over at Maggie with something that resembled admiration or curiosity. "And what can we do, after all? We can't lock her up in a cushioned room for the rest of her life and keep her safe, we can't shelter her. We can protect her, but not from everything. As much as we'd like to, sweetheart, we can never truly plan for what God has in store for us. All we can do is… keep reachin' for the sunlight, I suppose. Even when the soil feels too heavy."

Maggie shrugged and patted down the dirt lazily. "I just wanna make sure she's ready for the world. I want her ta be strong like me an' Daddy."

Annette smiled. "So let her become who she's gonna be. And when the time comes, she'll show you just how strong she can be... She might even end up teachin' you an' Daddy a few things when all's said and done."

Maggie scoffed. But to be fair, she never could've predicted just how right Momma would turn out to be.

2005

When Maggie was twelve and Beth was barely six years old, Hershel and Annette had gone out of town with Shawn for something or another—Maggie couldn't quite remember what exactly—but they'd left her in charge of babysitting Beth until they returned. As always, Patricia and Otis were only a phone call and a few miles away, as was Uncle Lloyd. But Maggie was confident that she wouldn't need anyone's help. She wasn't a little girl anymore, and she was fully capable of handling more responsibility. Besides, how much trouble could her annoying little six-year-old sister possibly give her?

But it turned out, Beth was a firecracker. She was a tiny ball of pure energy and mischief, intent on destroying anything and everything in her path. Too damn nosey for her own good, and so curious that it was downright dangerous. Once Mom and Dad had driven out of sight, it was like a switch had flipped in the tiny blonde girl's head. Her wide blue eyes lit up and she giggled maniacally, and no matter how many spankings Maggie threatened her with, she didn't slow down for a second.

It was the longest eighteen hours of Maggie's short life. But she was insistent on seeing it through and proving just how responsible and mature she'd become.

At one point, she'd turned her back for maybe five seconds to clean up a small pile of broken glass after Beth managed to run head-first into one of the wobbliest end tables in the whole farmhouse. And while Maggie was focused on keeping her little sister away from any pieces of Momma's broken knick-knack, she didn't see Beth slip out into the entryway, and she didn't even see the front door open. But when she turned around, Beth was gone, and the echoing sound of tiny footsteps rapidly padding across the old wood of the porch was the only remnant of her presence.

Maggie immediately dropped everything in her hands and dashed out the front door, across the porch, leaping over the stairs and landing on the grass before taking off at full-speed toward the tiny blonde girl.

Beth was fast—too fast. She'd already made it to the gravel road, running at a full sprint over the rocks and patches of grass, a shrill and triumphant giggle filling the air behind her. Her blonde hair flapped wildly behind her, small limbs becoming nothing more than flashes of pale skin as they flailed and carried her quickly down the road.

It took Maggie a solid few seconds to catch up to her baby sister, huffing and puffing and glaring with narrowed eyes at the head full of blonde hair that was just out of her reach for nearly a hundred feet down the gravel road. Beth was so fast. And her grin was so wide as she ran away, her laughter so loud, dashing towards nothing in particular like some kind of wild animal, ignoring Maggie's shouts and threats.

How was she so fast? How did such small legs carry her little body away so quickly? How did her tiny lungs have enough oxygen for all that laughing and running?

And why did she want to run away so much? Why the hell did she want to leave the farm behind and be free so badly?

Didn't she know what the world was like out there?

2006

Maggie turned thirteen in January of 2006. The next month, Arnold came home from school to find his father lying dead on the kitchen floor. Uncle Lloyd had a heart attack so sudden and so extreme that even if someone had been around to help, he wouldn't have survived long enough to get medical attention.

For the next several weeks, there was a lot of talk about custody and funeral arrangements and wills and inheritance and property management. Maggie was still too young to really understand what was going on. The only thing she remembered prominently was the shock of realizing she'd never speak to her uncle again, or see him or be able to ask him for advice or even ride horses with him. She wanted to be sad for Arnold because she knew he was an orphan now and that he wouldn't be able to keep living in the house he'd known his whole life, but all she felt was sadness for her daddy… and fear for how it would change her family.

She'd been too little to remember how her dad had acted after Josephine died, and his parents died before she'd been born so she didn't know how he'd handled that either. But when his only brother passed away, Hershel took it hard. He barely emerged from his bedroom for most of the week, and it was the first time Maggie had ever witnessed him purposely skip church. Annette took charge while her husband went through the worst of his grief, leaving her hands completely full with managing the farm and the church and taking care of Beth. Maggie and Shawn took it upon themselves to help out as much as possible, though neither of them could understand why their father didn't want to leave his room or speak to anyone other than his wife.

The funeral service was bleak and unlike any sort of service or ceremony Maggie had ever attended before. Once again, she'd been way too little to remember her mother's funeral, so it was a new experience for her as well as the other Greene kids. Her daddy looked more tired and sad than she'd ever seen him, and even Arnold was silent and red-eyed the whole time. It was one of the only times in her life that she'd ever seen Hershel cry.

Despite all that, she couldn't muster up any tears for her dearly departed uncle. For some reason, it wouldn't sink in. She half-expected him to pop up out of his casket and give a hearty belly laugh at how he'd fooled everyone. But she'd seen his dead, makeup-covered corpse lying in that final satin bed, she'd seen the absence of motion in his chest and the deathly stillness in his face. She knew he wasn't coming back. Yet she couldn't seem to convince herself it was real, and so the numbness persisted.

In a way, she was proud of herself for not crying. She was almost certain that Uncle Lloyd wouldn't have wanted her to shed any tears over him. She could still hear his voice in her head, telling her to "suck it up an' stop cryin'." She wondered if he would've said the same thing to Hershel in this instance.

Arnold ended up moving in with them. Hershel and Annette set him up in the guest room next to Beth's bedroom and explained to the Greene kids that their cousin would be living with them until he turned 18 and could take over the property Lloyd had left him. Hershel insisted on keeping all the land that had been in his family for generations—including the several acres and the modest farmhouse that had belonged to his brother. Arnold's presence didn't change things much. It was nice to have an extra hand with the chores and Maggie, Shawn, and Beth had always liked their cousin and enjoyed spending time with him. And Hershel and Annette made sure to make Lloyd's only son feel comfortable and welcome… even though Maggie knew they were taking on more than they'd planned for.

She heard the hushed arguments and the angry voices behind closed doors and late at night when all the kids were supposed to be asleep. She didn't understand it all, but she was smart enough to piece it together and figure out that Hershel had most definitely not planned for his brother's untimely death, nor had he planned to take over the extra property and taxes, let alone the extra teenager. He didn't let any of his uncertainty or stress show, though. If there was one thing Maggie knew for sure about her father, it was that he was a strong man who refused to let his weaknesses be seen. Nonetheless, she didn't miss how he spent a little extra time silently praying in church, his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles turned white.

At one point, she caught herself wondering if God was even listening.

She found him alone one night. She was supposed to be sleeping in bed but she'd been lying awake for hours with a racing mind and when she slipped out to use the bathroom, she saw the light on inside her daddy's study. Full of anxiety and uncertainty, she crept up to the door and quietly opened it to peek her head inside. He was sitting at his desk with a Bible open before him and a notebook beside it, squinting down to read and jot things down onto his paper. He heard the click of the door opening and looked up, his brow furrowing when he saw Maggie. She hesitated in the doorway before taking a step inside.

"Mags—what're you doin' up? You should be asleep, you've got school in the mornin'," he said as he set down his pen.

"I can't sleep, Daddy," she said quietly. "I can't… stop thinking."

His forehead creased in concern and he folded his hands atop the desk. "Thinking? About what, sweetheart?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and replied warily, "About… everything. I'm—I'm worried. About the farm and you an' Mom, and about Arnold living here."

Hershel frowned. "What—why would you be worried? Everything is fine. I explained t'you that Arnold would be staying with us until he's of age—we're his only family, he doesn't have anyone else. I thought you an' Shawn were excited about your cousin living with us."

"No, it's not that," she assured him. "We do like 'im, I'm glad he's here with us. But… can we afford ta have him here?"

Hershel blinked and the corners of his mouth tugged upward in a dumbfounded smile. But it quickly faded and he said, "Maggie, of course we can. You don't need ta be worryin' about that anyhow—that's me an' yer momma's job. We've got it handled, baby girl. You just worry about school and your chores, that's your job."

Maggie's brow creased and she frowned. "Then how come you guys have been arguin' so much? I heard what you've been saying and I know things aren't good. I'm scared, Daddy. I know it's not my place to worry about it, but I don't want us ta lose the farm or the church."

Hershel sighed and looked down at his folded hands for a moment in contemplation. Then he met her gaze again and gestured toward the open door behind her and the set of chairs in front of his desk. "Close the door an' sit down."

She did as he said and a few seconds later, he was gazing down at his hands again and worrying his lower lip. When he raised his head, Maggie could see the worry lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. She almost regretted ever saying anything, almost wished she'd just gone back to bed and kept her anxiety to herself.

But then he was speaking quietly, his tone gentle and measured and patient as he explained, "Honey, no matter how much we prepare and plan for everything, God had His own plan. And we will never understand it, no matter how hard we may try—not in this life. Things happen that are out of our control and all we can do is keep going. The only choice we have is to keep following God and asking for His guidance. He took my brother much sooner than I'd hoped, and now all I can do is pray that Lloyd found the peace he deserved… But that's just how The Lord works. He gives us trials and tribulations to test our strength and our faith, t'make us stronger. Me and your momma may not have planned to take care of Arnold, but we're not gonna back down when The Good Lord sets a challenge before us. That's the difference between us and everyone else: we don't let the world keep us down, we don't give up hope in the plan God has for us. We're Greene's, and we never fail to rise above the ashes… Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Maggie picked at her thumbnail and stared back at her father, lips parted and eyes wide as she tried to absorb everything he said. She paused before answering, "I think so. Yeah—yeah, I understand."

And she did. She was almost positive that she understood what he was telling her.

He nodded and offered her a small smile of reassurance. Then he continued, "Sometimes we fall on hard times. It's inevitable, especially with a farm and all the changes in technology these days. There are lows and highs, an' we might be goin' into another low right now, but we'll find our way upwards again. We always do. But I don't want you worrying about it—not one bit. You hear me? I've got it taken care of."

Maggie nodded deftly and pressed her lips tightly together.

"Trust me, Mags, I'm doin' absolutely everything in my power to keep us all fed and safe and happy. And I'll be damned if I let anyone take away the life I've built for us… the life I've built for you kids. Everything I do is for this family and this farm and this church. I've got it all under control."

A tense moment of silence passed between them. Then Maggie choked out, "I know, Daddy… I'm just worried, 'sall."

"Don't be," Hershel said simply. He leaned back in his chair and Maggie could've swore she saw an unfamiliar iciness in his blue eyes. But then he added, "I may not understand God's plan, but that will never stop me from having a plan of my own. Whatever happens, I'll worry about it. I'll figure it out. And I'll keep us safe. We ain't goin' nowhere anytime soon, baby girl... I promise."

Maggie didn't have anything else to say after that. She merely nodded and told her father goodnight and went back to bed.

But for the next few hours, she lay beneath the covers and stared up at the ceiling and tried to make sense of why God would put some of His most faithful servants through such difficult trials. If the Greene's were so unquestionably strong and unwavering, then why did God feel the need to keep testing them? And if it really was all a part of some big plan that none of them could comprehend or change, then what was the point of making any plans of their own? Was their fate already written down and determined, waiting to be played out like some kind of dark and tragic tale?

Or was her daddy just too scared to admit that absolutely nothing was in his control and that, sometimes, good people had to suffer for no discernible reason? That he had no idea what might come next, and no way of preparing for whatever it may be?

She couldn't find answers to any of her questions before she finally drifted off to sleep. And seconds before consciousness evaded her, she'd begun to wonder if she should actually trust the incomprehensible plan of a god that refused to speak to her. Every time she prayed, she never got a response. Just deft silence. Yet Daddy always spoke of how God "talked" to him every time he prayed and even sometimes when he wasn't expecting it.

For the briefest second, she wondered if her daddy had been imagining God's voice this whole time. Maybe he'd always been telling himself what he wanted to hear and claiming it was Divine Guidance.

Maybe, when it came down to it, he was just as scared and worried and confused as she was.

That night, she dreamt about Uncle Lloyd. It felt so real that afterwards, she had to reassure herself it was actually a dream.

She found herself sitting up in bed and everything in her dark room looked exactly the same, except when she looked toward the end of her bed, she saw her uncle sitting there. He looked exactly as she remembered him—beforethe funeral. He wasn't smiling, but that was no surprise because he very rarely smiled.

She wanted to ask him what he was doing but she couldn't find her voice. And then he was speaking, and he told her, "Maggie, I gotta go now. You be a good girl fer yer daddy now, ya hear me? He needs you. This whole family needs you. Promise me you'll take care a my boy, an' keep an eye on yer brother an' sister. Can you do that?"

She nodded but still couldn't muster up the strength to respond.

He nodded as though it were enough. Then he said, "You grew up strong. You'll make us all proud one day… You jus' remember yer a Greene. So fer now, this is goodbye."

She woke up shortly after that. And even though she knew it was a dream, his words remained in her head for years to come. She never told anyone about it, but she never forgot her uncle's last goodbye.

Some nights, she could've swore she could still feel him sitting at the end of her bed. And some nights, she imagined the mother she barely remembered was sitting beside him.

2007

The Senoia Baptist Church wasn't big, but Hershel was proud of it. The congregation that filled his "second home," as he liked to call it, was a tight-knit group of community members who functioned on a first-name basis and gossiped endlessly about one another. Nonetheless, they really were like a second family. Maggie could only barely remember the few years she'd been alive before her daddy had begun dedicating half of his life to the church. She couldn't recall the time before he'd been in charge. Everyone in the church seemed to gravitate towards him, as though he'd always been meant to be their leader. They swarmed to him like a flock of sheep and hung on his every word during each service. They called on him for advice and blessings and words of comfort. They respected him.

Maggie didn't realize it until she was much older, but the members of the congregation had trusted Hershel. Immensely. And in return, he'd protected them. Just as he'd strived to protect his actual family.

When she was about fourteen, one of the elderly congregation members passed away. The woman had been a 93-year-old widow who died peacefully in her sleep. She'd been attending the church with her 50-something-year-old son for the last decade or so. Maggie couldn't remember either of their names for the life of her, but she had attended the funeral in which her daddy performed the service and laid his old friend to rest once and for all. And afterwards, the lady's son kept attending church. He inherited everything his mother left behind and continued his life just as he'd lived it before her death.

Albeit a little more recklessly.

He'd always been quiet and kept to himself. Maggie could count on one hand all the times he'd spoken to her, and sometimes she forgot he existed at all. He seemed to live completely in the shadows. No one within the church had any real opinions about him; they were all neutral, nothing more than 'acquaintances,' and no one really knew what he did in his spare time. Even though he was there for every service, every Sunday and every Wednesday without fail. And sometimes he would approach Hershel afterwards and ask to pray together.

Hershel always happily obliged.

Then one day, a few months after the elderly mother's passing, one of the single mothers in the congregation approached Hershel after everyone else had left. Maggie had been in his office just a few feet away with the door ajar, and though she hadn't intended to eavesdrop, it was hard not to overhear the conversation when the building was so quiet.

She hadn't caught every single hushed word that was exchanged, but she could hear the distraught tone and the choked-back tears when the woman spoke. She could also hear the stern intensity in her daddy's voice—there was something in the sound that had sent ice through her veins. Afterwards, when they were alone, she asked him what the woman had told him and why they'd both sounded so upset. The look on Hershel's face chilled her to the core and she was certain that he was going to tell her that it was something she wasn't old enough to know about.

But to her surprise, he did the exact opposite.

"Marietta needed someone to confide in. She's very conflicted right now and struggling with an extremely heavy burden," Hershel explained.

Maggie could see how he was gauging her reaction as he spoke, how he was trying to decide whether she was actually mature enough to handle the whole truth. She was determined to prove to him that she was. She would be in high school soon, after all—it was time to show just how grown up she could be.

"What kinda burden?" She asked.

Her father paused and she could see him contemplating his next words inside his head. Then he sighed and said quietly, "Her daughter told her something the other night and… well, she's not sure how to handle it. She's very scared. And rightfully so."

Maggie swallowed hard and furrowed her brow. "Why's she scared? Is Emily gonna be okay?" Emily was only six years old and Maggie had known her since before she could walk. Marietta's boyfriend died in a car accident shortly after Emily was born, but the church had become an extended family for the single mom and her young daughter. Maggie suddenly worried that the little girl might be sick or something.

Hershel hesitated and it scared Maggie. He had the face that he always wore when he was about to deliver bad news.

"She'll be… okay. But she told her mom… Well, Maggie, I don't know quite how ta put this. That little girl told her mother some things that no child should ever know. And Marietta believes her." He paused, lowering his voice. "And so do I."

Maggie didn't blink. She kept her face stoic and ignored the rapid beating of her heart. "What did she tell her, Daddy?"

He pursed his lips but his bright blue eyes never left hers. He was studying her, measuring his words and rolling them over in his mouth. Then he leaned in an inch closer, as though there was anyone around to overhear them, and explained quietly, "Emily claims a man touched her… inappropriately. More than once. And he made her promise not to tell anyone... He threatened that little girl, sweetheart. He hurt her. A man in this very church."

Maggie's breath hitched in her chest and she froze, unable to form words. What was there to say? She'd heard about things like this, but she'd never actually known someone that was personally affected. She'd told herself that people who were that evil couldn't possibly exist, and if they did it was few and far between, and certainly not anyone anywhere close to her. Certainly not anyone in her own town, let alone in her own church.

That was the day she learned just how unforgiving the world could actually be; the day she learned that the most blood-thirsty wolves preferred to hide in sheep's clothing.

Marietta and Emily didn't show up in church for over a month. There was plenty of gossip and more than enough hearsay passing through the small congregation, and it only escalated once the dead widow's son stopped showing up as well. Then the news reports came out and the investigation began.

And then it was over. Just like that. And Marietta and Emily returned to church and acted as though nothing had happened, even though Maggie could see the vacant look in Marietta's eyes and the constant struggle to fight back tears. Emily didn't act quite the same either. But the man returned too, and he didn't even seem fazed. Even amidst the whispers and sideways glances, even despite the cold shoulders and low-key glares from the rest of the congregation, he kept showing up. He kept praying. He kept asking Hershel for forgiveness and blessings and the strength to ward off his demons.

Hershel grudgingly obliged.

When Maggie finally mustered up the courage to ask her daddy what the hell had actually happened and why that vile man wasn't locked inside a dark cell for the rest of his life, Hershel merely frowned.

"Maggie, sometimes," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and hunching his shoulders from the weight of a load she could not see. "The law doesn't… work. Sometimes, the justice system ain't so much about justice as it is about… money. And more often than I'd like to admit, justice isn't served. And it might never be."

Maggie was understandably confused by this. All her life, she'd been taught that the military and the police and the courts and all those other authority figures could be trusted to protect them. People like her family and their congregation were good, God-fearing, law-abiding people. And the system was in place to defend them and keep them safe, to punish the bad guys and keep the evil out of society.

Hershel could see the confusion on her face. He cleared his throat and glanced away awkwardly, letting out another sigh. He sounded tired. Or maybe just fed up.

"Mags… you can never rely on other people to do what needs to be done. Other people are cowards—they're selfish. And bad men get to keep being bad men because the good men are too scared to stop them. They get to hurt more people because no one has the courage to do what's right."

Maggie swallowed past a knot in her throat and nodded. She understood.

At least, she thought she did.

A week later, after the Sunday morning service, Beth slipped away from Maggie for a moment while they were outside. Momma was still inside, deep in conversation with three other congregation members, and Daddy was busy at the door with shaking hands and exchanging well wishes and inviting everyone back for the next service. Beth had been Maggie's responsibility considering the eight-year-old was practically glued to her big sister's hip most of the time anyway. Yet somehow, she'd snuck off and disappeared, and Maggie knew she had to find the tiny blonde before their parents came out and started losing their minds. The last thing she needed was to be grounded again.

Shawn happened to be nearby and Maggie immediately rushed to him, asking if he'd seen their little sister. But he was no help, and out of frustration, Maggie grabbed his wrist and yanked him along behind her to help search for Beth. He knew better than to try and fight back.

A couple of minutes later, they'd trekked into the wide open field behind the church and spotted movement beside a tree nearby. Shawn didn't have to be pulled along this time—he reflexively jogged beside Maggie, and then they were breaking into a full sprint once they recognized Beth's golden blonde hair and baby blue dress.

There was a piece of candy in Beth's tiny hands, half-unwrapped and mushy from the sun, and the man was so much larger than her that he cast a literal shadow over her eight-year-old form. He squatted down beside her, one grimy hand gently grasping her frail little arm while the other tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Maggie barely registered the stomach-turning look on his face before she'd grabbed Beth by the shoulders and began yelling. And then Shawn was stepping forward and shoving the grown man with all the strength his ten-year-old little boy body could muster. Maggie jerked Beth away from the man, slapping the candy out of her hands and ignoring her little sister's cries. The man didn't fight back. He didn't even argue. He just slumped away, defeated and ashamed.

Thankfully, Beth was unharmed. But Maggie couldn't stop thinking about what might've happened if she hadn't shown up when she did. And she could tell that Shawn was thinking the same thing.

That night, the two older siblings discussed everything in private and made an agreement. Maggie and Shawn approached their daddy after supper, during Beth's bath when they knew they wouldn't be interrupted by Momma. And Maggie told their father about what had happened, apologizing profusely for her bout of irresponsibility and lack of attention, but leaving nothing out for the sake of honesty. And Shawn vouched for her, backing up everything and adding his own little details.

To her surprise, Hershel wasn't angry at either of them. But he was still angry. He was furious. She could see it in the way his eyes darkened, in the long and thoughtful gaze he gave towards his tightly clenched fists.

And she'd never forget the ominous tone to his voice when he'd simply said, "Thank you for tellin' me, kids. It was the right thing to do."

Shawn spoke up, innocently asking, "Dad, I thought the cops arrested him. Why isn't he in jail? Everybody says he hurt Emily, so why isn't he bein' punished?"

Maggie already knew the answer but she held back a retort. Hershel ran a nervous hand through his hair and glanced away, then he met the ten-year-old's eyes and explained patiently, "He was arrested. And he went to court. And… he got somethin' called 'acquitted,' son. There just wasn't enough evidence. He's been punished, in a sense. But…"

His voice trailed off and Maggie could see that he was at a loss for words. Without a second thought, she finished for him.

"But sometimes bad men don't get punished like they should, because good men are too scared to do what's right. It's called justice and he didn't get it. He got luckyinstead."

Hershel blinked and his jaw dropped for a split-second, but Maggie was more focused on Shawn. The young boy absorbed her words and processed them, glancing away and contemplating their meaning. He looked uncomfortable. But she knew he should be. The truth was an uncomfortable thing, after all. He had to grow up sometime.

A long moment passed. Then their daddy said quietly, "That's right, Maggie. And I think his luck has just about run out."

A few days later, during Wednesday evening service, she couldn't help but notice the increased amount of whispers amongst the congregation, all the knowing looks and hushed conversations and huddled groups. She also couldn't help but notice Marietta and Emily's absence. She was keeping her eye on the dead widow's son, reveling in the obvious expression of discomfort he wore and the clear lack of inclusion that surrounded him. The entire church had reached the point of ostracizing him, silently and passively treating him like he was carrying The Plague. She had to fight to hold back the grin of satisfaction that wanted to spread on her face.

After the service, he left. But the rest of the congregation remained. They stalled around as though they were casually conversing and mingling, but once the dead widow's son had driven away, they all gathered together in a tightly-formed group and Momma pushed Maggie and Shawn out the door, ushering them off to head back home with Beth in tow. Maggie tried her hardest to convince Shawn and Beth to walk ahead without her so she could linger back and try to eavesdrop, but Beth was being particularly whiny and Shawn kept arguing that it wasn't fair for Maggie to stick around if he couldn't. So she grudgingly left with them, even though she wanted nothing more than to find out why the congregation members were all secretly meeting after the service.

That night, Hershel wasn't home to say his goodnights and tuck the kids into bed. Annette explained that he was "finishing some chores," but Maggie knew better. And when her daddy climbed up the stairs shortly after midnight with a satisfied smile on his face, she was the only one awake to silently watch him head to bed through the crack in her door.

The next day, at the crack of dawn just before she left for school, she spotted an unfamiliar vehicle that looked like a U-Haul truck out by the old barn behind the house. It wasn't there for long and she didn't see who was driving it or occupying the seats inside, but she caught a glimpse of worn green paint on the side and block letters spelling out: "Dixon Brothers Waste Removal." The truck disappeared before she'd even boarded the school bus and she didn't see it ever again. Not even while driving through town or through the bustling city of Atlanta.

Sometimes, she wondered if she'd imagined it altogether.

It wasn't until hours after the next Sunday evening service that Maggie realized she hadn't seen the dead widow's son in attendance all day. She didn't point it out or ask questions, though. Maybe he'd just been sick. She told herself she was imagining things when she saw the relief in Marietta's eyes and the newfound ease in her movements.

Then they had another Wednesday service and the dead widow's son wasn't there either. And two more Sunday services and yet another Wednesday service after it. At least six weeks of church services passed before Maggie managed to muster up the courage and ask her dad about it. She didn't bother asking Shawn to join her this time—it was probably something he wasn't quite mature enough to handle anyway. She, on the other hand, needed to know the truth. She was old enough to understand the gravity of the situation and clever enough to put two-and-two together and figure out what her parents were trying to keep from her. She wanted answers and she was determined to get them, no matter what that might mean.

She had to know that her daddy had meant what he'd told her. She had to know that he was a good man who wasn't willing to step back when he saw a chance to do the right thing.

She caught him on the back porch one day. She remembered it was mid-winter because she'd been wearing a coat and there was frost on the dead grass when she looked out across the yard. He was sitting in his porch chair, completely silent as he gazed off into the distance with contemplation.

"Dad… what happened ta that guy?" Her voice was quiet but not the least bit hesitant. "He… stopped showin' up to church. Nobody ever talks about him. What… where did he go?"

Hershel slowly turned his head and met Maggie's eyes with an intense gaze that shook her to the core. His expression was something between satisfaction and self-righteousness; like he held the entire world in his palm and was waiting for just the right time to crush it between his fingers. His mouth tugged upward to form a smug half-smile.

"If God is truly just, that man is in Hell. Where he can't hurt anyone else ever again. And hopefully… he's burning for all of eternity."

Maggie swallowed hard but couldn't tear her eyes away from the look on her father's face. She barely parted her lips and whispered, "Did you… all of you… an' that truck…"

She couldn't finish the question or even a complete sentence. The words formed and tangled and dissipated on her tongue before she could speak them.

But Hershel's expression didn't change. His sky blue eyes sparkled and he gave Maggie a look like he had a newfound respect for her. Or maybe she was only seeing what she wanted to see.

"'A false balance is an abomination to the Lord,'" he calmly quoted Proverbs 11:1. "'But a just weight is His delight.'"

Maggie swallowed back any other words that might've wanted to escape. She had all the answers she'd been hoping for and then some.

No one ever spoke about the dead widow's son again. No one ever bothered looking for him either. And just like that… he faded away.

Years later, Maggie happened to drive past the house that his mother had left for him, and saw that it was abandoned. Overgrown with weeds and tall grass and vines, crumbling and condemned. She never saw him again, never heard a single word spoken of him nor so much as a breath of a hint that he'd ever existed.

But she never forgot him. Though his name evaded her, he'd left a lesson behind. And whether her daddy had intended for her to learn it or not, she had. She'd learned well.

And she'd learned fast.

to be continued...

A/N: Lyrics for this chapter taken from "Viva La Gloria (Little Girl)" by Green Day.
Next few chapters will be important events from Maggie's perspective leading up to, and including, the bust. Then it's back to Beth and her meeting with Jesus and Aaron.