Chapter 2
He didn't yell.
That was the part I remember most. My father — a man who'd never raised his voice to anyone in his life — didn't yell. He just stood there, looking at that lock, and his face went pale.
Then he walked to the junk drawer. He pulled out a hammer. He walked back to the refrigerator. And he broke the lock.
The sound of metal snapping was loud. It echoed. Vanessa flinched. Caleb and Ava both jumped.
Dad opened the refrigerator. It was full. Full of food. Milk. Eggs. Fruit. Leftovers. Everything a family could need. Everything I'd been denied.
He took out the chicken. The potatoes. The green beans. He put them on a plate. He put it in the microwave. He didn't say a word.
When it was warm, he set it on the table in front of me.
"Eat," he said.
I looked at Vanessa. She was standing by the sink, her face like stone. I was scared. Scared of what she'd do later. Scared of the punishment.
But Dad pulled out a chair. He sat down beside me. "I'm not leaving," he said. "Eat."
So I ate. Slowly at first. Then faster. The chicken was good. The potatoes were buttery. I ate until my stomach hurt. And when I finished, I cried. Quiet tears, because I didn't want to make a scene.
Dad put his arm around me. He held me while I cried.
Then he turned to Vanessa. His voice was quiet, but it was the coldest thing I'd ever heard.
"Pack your things," he said. "You're leaving tonight."
Vanessa's mouth dropped. "This is my house. You can't —"
"This is my house. My name is on the deed. You've been locking my refrigerator and starving my daughter while I was gone. You're lucky I'm not calling the police. Pack. Your. Things."
Vanessa looked at Caleb and Ava. "Tell him. Tell him this is a misunderstanding."
Caleb looked at his plate. Ava looked at her hands. Neither of them spoke.
"Tell him!" Vanessa screamed.
Ava flinched. Caleb's jaw tightened. Then Caleb looked up at his mother.
"No," he said. "I'm not lying anymore. She does it. All the time. When you're gone. She locks the fridge. She throws Nia's food away. She calls her names. She —"
He stopped. His voice had cracked.
Dad closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were wet.
"Get out," he said to Vanessa. "Now. And if you ever come near any of these kids again, I will call the police. Do you understand me?"
Vanessa stared at him. For a long moment, I thought she'd refuse. Then she turned and walked upstairs. I heard her open drawers. I heard her throw things into a suitcase.
Twenty minutes later, she came down. She didn't look at any of us. She walked out the door. She got in her car. She drove away.
The house was silent.
Dad looked at Caleb. At Ava. At me.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry. I should have been here. I should have seen. I should have —"
He couldn't finish. He started crying. Big, quiet sobs. Caleb went to him. Ava went to him. I went to him. We all stood there in the kitchen, holding each other, crying.
That night, Dad slept on the couch. He said he didn't want to be in the bedroom he'd shared with Vanessa. He said he wanted to be near the kitchen. Near the refrigerator. Near us.
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I didn't sleep much. But for the first time in a year, I didn't go to bed hungry.
And for the first time in a year, I felt — safe.
