My father stood over me, his face twisted in a rictus of rage. A shaking finger pointed down at my wet, trembling form. "Sure enough—a jinx is cold-blooded! Your grandmother died buying that for you, and you have the nerve to wash it? Do you have no conscience?"
Teeth chattering, I hugged the sodden schoolbag to my chest. "Grandma... she bought it for me. I just... I wanted to wash it clean for her."
My mother scoffed from the doorway. "A jinx has no human warmth. You only care about yourself."
She crossed her arms. "I'm telling you now—washing it is useless. Your father and I aren't sending you to school. We aren't going to care for you, either. You can rot for all we care."
Dad kicked a small metal basin toward me. It clattered against the stones. "Since you like washing so much, fetch hot water. Go wipe your grandmother's body and change her clothes."
My eyes lit up. *I can see Grandma?*
I scrambled up, nodding frantically. "Okay. I'll go. I'll clean Grandma right now."
Aunt Faith stepped forward, blocking my path. Disbelief was etched into every line of her face as she looked at my father. "The child is too young! All that blood... it will traumatize her."