Chapter 3
The glass hit the wall before I understood Dad had thrown it.
Water sprayed across the cabinets.
Brenda screamed and jumped back.
Dad did not move toward her.
He only stood there with me in his arms, breathing like something inside him was trying not to explode.
“You locked my child in a kennel.”
Brenda’s face twisted.
“She is spoiled.”
“She is ten.”
“She manipulates you.”
“She is ten.”
“She lies.”
Dad’s voice dropped.
“She is ten.”
The room went quiet.
Brenda looked at me then.
Not with fear.
With hatred.
“She ruined this family before I ever had a chance.”
I flinched.
Dad felt it.
His arms tightened.
“What did you say?”
Brenda laughed once.
“You heard me. Everything in this house is about her. Emily needs dinner. Emily needs school supplies. Emily misses her dead mother. Emily can’t handle changes.”
My chest hurt.
I missed my mother every day.
But I had learned not to say it out loud because Brenda’s face changed whenever I did.
Dad’s eyes went cold.
“You were jealous of a grieving child?”
Brenda pointed at me.
“She looks at me like I’m a stranger.”
“You are.”
The words came from me.
Small.
Shaking.
But mine.
Brenda stepped forward.
Dad stepped back.
“Do not come near her.”
She stared at him.
“You’re choosing her over your wife?”
Dad looked down at me.
“She is my daughter.”
Brenda’s mouth tightened.
“And I am carrying your son.”
The room stopped.
My father went completely still.
I did not understand at first.
Then his face changed.
“You’re pregnant?”
Brenda placed one hand on her stomach.
“Yes.”
Her eyes shone with triumph.
“And if you make me leave, everyone will know you threw out your pregnant wife because your little princess threw a tantrum.”
I felt Dad’s arms loosen.
Just a little.
Enough for terror to rush through me.
Brenda saw it.
She smiled.
That was when I knew.
She had been waiting to say it.
Dad looked at her stomach.
Then at me.
Then back at Brenda.
For one terrible second, I thought she had won.
Then Dad said quietly, “Being pregnant does not give you permission to abuse my child.”
Brenda’s smile vanished.
Dad carried me toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” she snapped.
May you like
“To take pictures of every bruise she has.”
Brenda went pale.
