The sad Boy

Previously

…He sank onto his bed, burying his face in the rough wool of his blanket. The key, still clutched in his hand, felt heavy, a reminder of his failure. He had tried. He had been so close. But his stepmother’s watchful eyes, like those of a hawk, had missed nothing. He was still trapped, and the despair that had been lurking just beneath the surface now threatened to consume him entirely. He felt a sob wrack his small body. He had escaped, only to be caught, his hope crushed beneath the heel of his stepmother’s relentless control. The first dash had ended not in freedom, but in a deeper despair.