My stepfather beat me every day as a form of entertainment. One day, he broke my arm, and when we took me to the hospital, my mother said, “It was because she accidentally fell down the stairs.” As soon as the doctor saw the bruises on my face, he immediately called 911.

The mechanical sound was sharp, crisp, and permanent. She lowered the camera, looking at the glowing digital screen. The image was perfect. It was a picture of pure, unfiltered light, captured and contained entirely on her terms.

There were no shadows left to hide in. There was no roof to trap her screams.

Mara slung the camera strap over her shoulder, turned her back on the shadows of the porch, and walked down the wooden steps, stepping forward into the brilliant, boundless light of her new life.