Chapter 2
Dad carried me into the house.
Brenda followed us, still wearing that fake smile.
The one she used at church.
The one she used when neighbors waved.
The one she used whenever Dad was home.
“She’s being dramatic,” Brenda said. “You know how sensitive she is.”
Dad did not answer.
He set me down on the sofa and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.
My teeth were chattering.
He touched my hands.
They were freezing.
“Emily,” he said gently. “Did she put you in there?”
I looked at Brenda.
Her eyes changed.
Not enough for Dad to see.
Enough for me.
A warning.
Don’t you dare.
My throat closed.
Dad saw me looking at her.
His jaw tightened.
“Brenda, go to the kitchen.”
She laughed.
“What?”
“Now.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Robert, don’t be ridiculous.”
He stood slowly.
“I said go.”
For one second, the house was silent.
Then Brenda turned and walked toward the kitchen, her heels striking the floor too hard.
Dad knelt in front of me.
His voice softened.
“She can’t hear you from here.”
But I knew she could.
Brenda always heard.
Through walls.
Through doors.
Through my own breathing.
I shook my head.
Dad’s eyes filled.
That scared me more than anger.
My father never cried.
He was a quiet man.
A tired man.
A man who worked long hours and came home believing peace waited for him.
Brenda had made sure he saw peace.
Clean floors.
Warm dinners.
A little girl who always said she was fine.
“Emily,” he whispered. “Has she done this before?”
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to protect the version of our house Dad believed in.
But my whole body still smelled like the kennel.
And the truth came out before fear could stop it.
“Not the kennel.”
Dad stopped breathing.
“What does that mean?”
I looked down.
“She locks me in the pantry sometimes.”
His face changed.
“And the laundry room.”
His hands curled into fists.
“And once in the closet because I cried too loud.”
Behind us, something clattered in the kitchen.
Brenda had heard.
Dad stood.
“Stay here.”
“No,” I grabbed his sleeve. “Please don’t leave me.”
His face broke.
“I won’t.”
He picked me up again.
Then he walked into the kitchen with me in his arms.
Brenda stood by the sink, holding a glass of water.
Her face was calm again.
Too calm.
Dad looked straight at her.
“Tell me my daughter is lying.”
Brenda smiled.
May you like
And said the worst thing possible.
“She needs discipline.”
