Chapter 4
I had bruises I had forgotten about.
That was the strange part.
A yellow one on my arm from where Brenda dragged me away from the window when the mailman waved.
A purple mark on my hip from falling into the cabinet after she shoved me.
Red scratches near my wrist from trying to pull away when she locked me in the pantry.
Dad photographed everything.
His hands shook.
He kept saying, “I’m sorry.”
Over and over.
Like the words could cover my skin.
They could not.
But they mattered.
After the photos, he called Aunt Laura.
His older sister.
The only person Brenda hated more than me.
Aunt Laura arrived in fifteen minutes wearing sweatpants, a coat, and the face of a woman ready for war.
She walked into my bedroom, saw me wrapped in blankets, and stopped.
“Oh, baby.”
I started crying again.
She sat beside me and pulled me into her arms.
Dad stood near the door.
“I didn’t know.”
Aunt Laura looked at him.
Her voice was sharp.
“You didn’t want to know.”
He flinched.
Good.
Even at ten, I understood that some truths needed to hit adults hard.
Brenda shouted downstairs.
“You can’t keep me out of my own bedroom!”
Aunt Laura kissed my hair.
“Stay here.”
Dad and Aunt Laura went downstairs.
I crept to the top of the stairs.
I should not have listened.
But children in dangerous houses survive by listening.
Brenda was crying now.
Real tears or fake tears.
I could never tell.
“I made one mistake,” she sobbed. “One. And now you’re treating me like a monster.”
Aunt Laura said, “Monsters usually call abuse a mistake.”
Brenda snapped, “You always hated me.”
“I’m developing excellent instincts.”
Dad said, “Pack a bag.”
Brenda went silent.
“What?”
“You’re going to your mother’s tonight.”
“I’m your wife.”
“And Emily is my daughter.”
“She’s lying about everything.”
Aunt Laura said, “Then you won’t mind if Robert checks the cameras.”
My stomach dropped.
Cameras?
Brenda made a small sound.
Dad noticed.
“What cameras?”
Aunt Laura answered, “The doorbell camera. The backyard camera. The hallway nanny cam you installed after the break-in scare.”
Brenda whispered, “Those don’t record inside.”
May you like
Aunt Laura’s voice turned cold.
“Want to bet?”
