I trembled with anger the moment that I found out the truth. I stared long and hard at my "parents" after they told me. My "mother" was weeping and my "father" had his arm around her in comfort.
"We thought that keeping it from you would be good," Mrs. Hastings, my "mother", said tearfully.
"Well you were dead wrong," I said with anger. I turned to leave the room.
"Katie, wait," said Mr. Hastings, pleadingly. "Please don't leave."
I ignored them and marched out of the parlor and up the wooden stairs. I went into my room, locked the door with the key I wore 'round my neck, grabbed an old, gray suitcase, and began tossing articles of clothing into it. A black cotton shirt, a white polyester button down shirt, a white nightgown, a tope tweed skirt. A pair of khaki pants which my "mother" despised, a red knit wool sweater, and some thick, dark blue stockings also went in.
In went my olive green felt hat and matching olive green felt knee length skirt, a pair of black leather gloves, plenty of bleached white underwear, my deep purple satin dress with the white lace collar and sleeves, a blue plaid skirt, a dark blue cardigan sweater, a pair of white socks, a pair of silk white gloves, and my black Mary Janes. I then put some soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and other things such as that into the suitcase. Snapping closed the suitcase, I got out my small, black leather handbag and began filling it with bobby pins, purple ribbon, olive green, and dark blue ribbons (all neatly folded), a tiny bottle of flowery perfume, and a wad of bills that probably equaled close to one hundred and fifty dollars (living in the Depression most of my life, I feared and avoided banks), and some jewelry. Most of the jewelry I did not like and would sell it if needed.
I would keep my silver and aquamarine ring and matching earrings and my gold locket, but most likely sell the ugly amethyst broach, the gold chain bracelet, the emerald hair jewel, and the simple, silver chain. Most of the jewelry I had received from my wealthy "uncle" Frederick, for I was his favorite niece. When I grew too old to be overjoyed by ponies and dolls, he resorted to jewelry. And by now at my sixteen years, I had enough for a queen.
My suitcase in hand and my handbag hanging on my shoulder, I looked into the full length wood framed mirror which hung on my door. My gray eyes looked angry and my shoulder length brown hair was in a knot on top of my head. My face was thin and pale, and the rest of me thin also. Clad in my black leather ankle length shoes with the circular ties, flesh colored nylons, a black wool skirt, a sky blue cotton top with blue buttons, and my thick, black tweed winter coat, I was ready to go. It being October, it was not cold enough yet for a hat or gloves, but cold enough for a coat.
I quietly opened the door, tip toed down the stairs and opened the front door. I hadn't left a note, but they didn't deserve it. Not after what they did. Not after the lies. Not after all of it. I was through with them.
Hoffstile Hotel by Autumn Pierce

