Chapter 1
The snow was already covering my shoes when I reached the front porch.
My fingers were numb.
My lips felt stiff.
Every breath came out like smoke in the dark.
I had worked the late shift at the grocery store because Mr. Harris asked if anyone could stay.
Two cashiers called out.
The roads were bad.
Buses were delayed.
I texted Brenda three times.
Running late. Roads are bad.
Bus stuck near Maple.
Almost home.
She never answered.
By the time I got to our house, it was almost eleven.
The porch light was off.
That was the first thing that made my stomach drop.
Dad always left it on for me.
Always.
Even if he was asleep.
Even if he had to leave early for work.
The porch light meant home.
Tonight, the house looked dark and cold.
I reached for my keys.
My hand shook so badly I dropped them in the snow.
I crouched, digging through powder with bare fingers until I found them.
The key went into the lock.
It did not turn.
I tried again.
Nothing.
My heart started pounding.
Brenda had changed the deadbolt.
I knocked.
At first, softly.
Then harder.
“Brenda?”
No answer.
I rang the bell.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Finally, the hallway light came on.
The curtain beside the door shifted.
Brenda’s face appeared in the narrow window.
She wore a thick robe.
Hair wrapped in a silk scarf.
Face calm.
Too calm.
I pressed my hand to the glass.
“Brenda, open the door.”
She opened it only two inches.
A chain held it in place.
Cold air rushed inside.
She looked down at my wet shoes.
Then up at my face.
“You’re late.”
“The bus got stuck. I texted you.”
“I saw.”
I stared at her.
“Then open the door. Please. I’m freezing.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You think because your father isn’t here, you can do whatever you want?”
“I was at work.”
“You were supposed to be home by nine.”
“My shift changed.”
“Not my problem.”
My teeth chattered.
“Brenda, please.”
She leaned closer.
Her voice dropped.
“You need to learn consequences.”
I blinked snow from my lashes.
“What?”
“You want to act grown? Stay out all hours? Then sleep where grown people sleep when they disrespect a house.”
“I didn’t disrespect anything.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Backtalk too.”
Then she nodded toward the backyard.
“The shed is unlocked.”
I stared at her.
The shed.
The old wooden shed behind the garage.
No heat.
No insulation.
Just lawn chairs, tools, and bags of soil.
“It’s below freezing.”
“Then maybe you’ll remember next time.”
I grabbed the door frame.
“Brenda, I’m seventeen.”
“You’re old enough to work. You’re old enough to learn.”
“Dad would never let you do this.”
Her smile changed.
Cruel.
Small.
“Your father isn’t here.”
Then she shut the door.
The lock clicked.
The hallway light went off.
For a few seconds, I just stood there.
Snow falling around me.
Wind cutting through my work hoodie.
My phone battery was at two percent.
I called Dad.
No answer.
He was supposed to be driving back from a job two towns over.
I called again.
Voicemail.
I tried to text.
Dad please come home.
The phone died before I could send it.
I stood on the porch until my legs started shaking too hard to stand still.
Then I went to the shed.
The door groaned when I pulled it open.
Inside smelled like dust and gasoline.
I found an old tarp and wrapped it around my shoulders.
It did almost nothing.
I sat on a folded lawn chair, pulled my knees to my chest, and tried not to cry.
But the tears came anyway.
Not loud.
I was too cold for loud.
I thought about my mother.
She died when I was nine.
She used to warm my socks in the dryer when it snowed.
She used to say, “Cold gets mean if you let it stay too long.”
I wondered what she would think of me sitting in a shed behind my own house.
I don’t know how long passed.
Maybe twenty minutes.
Maybe an hour.
Then headlights swept across the backyard fence.
A truck door slammed.
“Nia?”
My dad’s voice cut through the snow.
“Nia!”
I tried to stand, but my legs buckled.
The shed door flew open.
Dad stood there in his work coat, eyes wide with horror.
He saw my face.
My blue lips.
The tarp.
The shaking.
For one second, he did not move.
Then he rushed in and pulled me into his arms.
“Baby, what happened?”
I tried to speak.
Only a sob came out.
He lifted me like I was still little and carried me toward the house.
His jaw was clenched so hard I could see the muscle jumping.
At the porch, he kicked the door once.
Hard.
“Brenda!”
No answer.
He unlocked it with his key, but the chain caught.
He stared at the gap.
Then he stepped back and slammed his shoulder into the door.
The chain ripped from the frame.
Brenda appeared at the staircase, startled.
“Andre, what are you doing?”
He carried me inside and set me on the couch.
Then he turned to his wife.
His voice was calm.
That scared me more than yelling.
“Did you lock my daughter outside?”
Brenda lifted her chin.
“She needed a lesson.”
Dad walked to the closet, pulled out Brenda’s winter coat, and threw it at her feet.
She stared down.
“What is that?”
Dad looked at her.
“Your lesson.”
Her face went pale.
“Excuse me?”
He pointed to the broken door.
“Put it on.”
“Andre—”
“Because you’re sleeping outside tonight.”
The room went dead silent.
May you like
Dad’s voice dropped.
“Get out.”
