Chapter 6
Our new apartment smelled like paint and cardboard.
It had two bedrooms.
A tiny kitchen.
A balcony facing the school baseball field.
Mom apologized for how small it was.
I told her small felt safer.
She cried in the bathroom after that.
I heard her.
I let her have privacy.
That was new for us.
Before, our house had been full of pretending.
Now grief could make noise.
Carl violated the protective order three weeks later.
He showed up outside practice.
I saw his truck first.
My stomach dropped.
Coach Martinez stepped in front of me before Carl even got out.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
Carl slammed the truck door.
“I want to talk to my wife’s son.”
Coach lifted his phone.
“You’re violating a court order.”
Carl laughed.
“That order says I can’t go to the apartment. This is a public field.”
Coach smiled.
Not warmly.
“It also says no contact at school or sports facilities. I helped your lawyer read it.”
Police came.
Carl was arrested again.
This time, parents filmed everything.
He screamed that Coach had turned me against him.
Coach did not react.
Afterward, I asked him, “Why do you keep helping me?”
He looked surprised.
“Because adults should.”
That answer nearly broke me.
I had gotten used to adults needing reasons.
Guilt.
Obligation.
Reputation.
Coach made it sound simple.
Maybe it should have been.
Brandon transferred schools.
Before leaving, he sent one last email from a new account.
You stole my dad.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then wrote back.
You can have him.
I did not send it.
May you like
I deleted it.
Some truths do not need delivery.
