Chapter 3
That night, I did not go home.
Neither did Dad.
CPS made a safety plan, and Dad agreed before they finished explaining it.
Brenda was not allowed near me.
Not at home.
Not at school.
Not through phone.
Not through relatives.
Not through anyone.
Dad kept nodding, saying yes to every rule like he was afraid if he paused, someone would think he didn’t mean it.
I watched him sign papers.
His hand shook.
Ms. Parker asked, “Mr. Walker, did you know about Liam’s injuries?”
Dad closed his eyes.
“No.”
Then he opened them and looked at me.
“I knew she was hard on him.”
Hard on him.
That phrase sat in the room like something rotten.
I looked down.
Dad saw my face.
His voice broke.
“No. That’s not enough. I knew he seemed scared sometimes. I knew he got quiet when Brenda entered a room. I knew he stopped asking friends over. I knew he wore hoodies in summer.”
Tears slid down his face.
“I didn’t know because I didn’t look hard enough.”
Nobody spoke.
I didn’t know whether I wanted to hug him or hit him.
Maybe both.
Ms. Parker wrote something down.
“Are there relatives Liam can stay with while we confirm home safety?”
Dad nodded quickly.
“My sister. Rachel. She lives in Round Rock.”
My chest tightened.
Aunt Rachel.
I hadn’t seen her in almost a year.
Brenda said Rachel was “too nosy” and “hated our marriage.”
I missed her.
Dad called her on speaker.
She answered breathless.
“Tom?”
His name was Thomas Walker, but everyone called him Tom.
Dad’s voice cracked immediately.
“Rachel, I need help. It’s Liam.”
“What happened?”
“Brenda hurt him.”
There was silence.
Then Aunt Rachel’s voice became ice.
“I’m coming.”
“We’re at the station.”
“I’m already moving.”
She arrived forty minutes later in pajama pants, sneakers, and a fury so strong even Officer Martinez stepped aside fast.
The moment she saw me, she covered her mouth.
“Oh, baby.”
I wasn’t a baby.
But when she hugged me, I felt like one.
In a good way.
She looked over my shoulder at Dad.
“I told you something was wrong.”
Dad nodded.
“I know.”
“You said Brenda just needed time.”
“I know.”
“You let her cut us off.”
“I know.”
Aunt Rachel’s face twisted with grief.
“Tom.”
Dad broke.
He sat down and cried into both hands.
I had never seen him cry like that.
Not even when Mom died.
My real mom, Emily, died when I was six.
Car accident.
Sudden.
No goodbye.
Dad fell apart quietly.
Then Brenda appeared one year later with casseroles, soft voices, and promises to help.
At first, she was nice to me.
Too nice.
She bought toys.
Called me sweetheart.
Told Dad I needed “a mother’s structure.”
Then after the wedding, the rules changed.
No more calling Aunt Rachel without permission.
No more keeping Mom’s picture by my bed because “it kept me stuck.”
No more snacks unless earned.
No more crying.
No more accidents.
No more being a child.
Aunt Rachel took us to her house.
Dad drove behind in his truck.
I sat in Rachel’s passenger seat holding a blanket she had brought.
She didn’t ask questions for the first ten minutes.
Then she said, “You don’t have to talk tonight.”
I looked at her.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Brenda says silence is disrespect.”
“Brenda can choke on a cactus.”
I stared at her.
Then laughed.
It came out weird and rusty.
Rachel smiled sadly.
“There he is.”
Her house smelled like laundry soap and cinnamon.
She made me toast.
Dad stood in the kitchen doorway like he didn’t know if he was allowed inside his sister’s home.
Rachel pointed at the table.
“Sit.”
He sat.
She pointed at the toast.
“Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You are no use to Liam collapsing from guilt.”
He picked up the toast.
I almost smiled.
That night, Rachel gave me her guest room.
Dad slept on the couch outside the door.
Not because I asked.
Because he did.
Around midnight, I woke from a nightmare.
Brenda’s hand around my wrist.
Her nails digging in.
Her voice screaming traitor.
I opened the door.
Dad was sitting on the floor in the hallway, awake.
He looked up immediately.
“You okay?”
I shook my head.
He opened his arms, then stopped.
“Can I hug you?”
I nodded.
He held me while I cried.
“I thought she was taking me,” I whispered.
His arms tightened carefully.
“She won’t.”
“But she had the passport.”
“I know.”
“And the plane ticket.”
“I know.”
“What if she gets out?”
His voice changed.
“Then she still won’t get you.”
“How do you know?”
May you like
He pulled back and looked me in the eyes.
“Because this time, I am looking.”
