Chapter 2
Dad went completely still.
His eyes searched my face.
"What does she make you do, Maya?"
I couldn't answer.
Not with Denise standing there.
Not with her staring at me like she could make me disappear.
My stepmother forced a laugh.
"Oh, Marcus, please. She's being dramatic."
Dad turned his head.
"Denise, stop talking."
She looked offended.
"Excuse me?"
"I need to hear my daughter."
My stomach twisted.
Denise had never liked being told to be quiet.
Usually, when somebody challenged her, she became louder.
Meaner.
But Dad's voice had changed.
It wasn't loud.
It was serious.
And something about that frightened her.
He knelt beside me again.
"Sweetheart, you're safe with me."
I wanted to believe him.
But I'd believed that before.
One time, I'd told Dad Denise wouldn't let me have dessert.
He'd laughed and said I needed to listen to my stepmother.
That night, Denise made me scrub the kitchen floor until almost midnight.
Another time, I told him I didn't want to stay home alone with her.
He said I was being difficult.
Denise smiled all through dinner.
Then she took away my pillow because I'd embarrassed her.
So I had learned something.
Telling Dad didn't always make things better.
Sometimes it made things worse.
I looked toward the hallway.
"Daddy, can we talk somewhere else?"
He nodded immediately.
"Of course."
Denise stepped forward.
"Absolutely not. If she's accusing me of something, I have a right to hear it."
Dad stood.
"You've heard enough."
"This is my house too!"
He looked directly at her.
"And Maya is my daughter."
I had never heard him speak to Denise that way.
He took my hand.
"Come on, princess."
We walked toward my bedroom.
Behind us, Denise called his name.
He didn't turn around.
When we reached my room, Dad closed the door.
I immediately looked at the lock.
He noticed.
"Maya?"
I pointed toward the doorknob.
"Can you lock it?"
His expression changed.
He turned the lock.
Then sat beside me on my bed.
"Okay, sweetheart."
He held out his hand.
"Tell me."
I stared at my shoes.
Except I wasn't wearing shoes.
Denise had taken them away that morning.
She said dirty children didn't deserve nice things.
I pulled my knees against my chest.
"She makes me sleep in the laundry room."
Dad stopped breathing.
"What?"
I nodded.
"Sometimes."
He looked toward my bed.
The pink blanket.
The stuffed animals.
The white pillow.
Everything looked normal.
Because Denise always made sure my room looked perfect before he got home.
"Why would you sleep in the laundry room?"
I whispered, "Because she says I don't deserve a bedroom when I'm bad."
Dad's face tightened.
"What does she call bad?"
I began counting on my fingers.
"When I forget to fold towels."
"When I ask for food."
"When I cry."
My voice cracked.
"When I say I miss Mommy."
Dad closed his eyes.
My mother, Jasmine, had died when I was five.
I remembered her smell.
Her laugh.
The way she sang while brushing my braids.
Sometimes, when I felt lonely, I asked questions about her.
Denise hated that.
She said dead people couldn't help me.
She said I needed to stop acting like a baby.
I hadn't told Dad.
Not once.
Because Denise always reminded me what would happen.
Dad opened his eyes.
"Does she lock you in there?"
I nodded.
"Sometimes."
His hands trembled.
"For how long?"
"Until morning."
He stood so suddenly that I flinched.
Then he immediately stopped.
"I'm sorry, baby."
He knelt again.
"I'm not angry at you."
I started crying.
"I thought you were."
"No."
He pulled me close.
"I'm angry because someone hurt you."
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
For a moment, I couldn't stop crying.
Then Dad asked another question.
"Does she feed you?"
My stomach made a small noise.
I felt embarrassed.
He looked down.
"Maya?"
I whispered, "Not always."
His face changed.
"What do you mean?"
"She says I have to earn dinner."
Dad stared at me.
I tried to explain.
"If I clean everything, I can eat."
"And if you don't?"
I looked away.
"Sometimes she gives me crackers."
Dad's breathing changed.
I could hear it.
Slow.
Heavy.
Like he was trying not to explode.
I pulled back.
"Daddy, please don't yell."
He looked at me.
"Why?"
"Because she'll say I made you hate her."
His eyes filled.
"Oh, Maya."
I began crying again.
"She said if you divorce her, it'll be my fault."
Dad shook his head immediately.
"No."
"She said you'll be lonely again."
"No, sweetheart."
"She said you'll stop loving me."
His face crumpled.
He pulled me into his arms.
"Never."
I held him tightly.
"I would never stop loving you."
I wanted to stay there forever.
But then I remembered something.
Something hidden beneath my mattress.
Something Denise didn't know I had kept.
I slowly pulled away.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"I have something to show you."
I climbed off the bed.
He watched as I lifted the mattress corner.
My fingers searched beneath it.
Then I pulled out a small folded notebook.
The cover was pink.
There were little hearts drawn across the front.
Mommy had given it to me before she died.
It used to hold my drawings.
Now it held something else.
I placed it in Dad's hands.
He opened the first page.
There were dates.
Little drawings.
And sentences written in my crooked handwriting.
Monday. No dinner.
Tuesday. Cleaned kitchen. Hands hurt.
Wednesday. Slept beside washing machine.
Thursday. Denise said nobody would believe me.
Dad stared at the notebook.
Then turned another page.
And another.
His eyes filled with tears.
He looked at me.
"How long has this been happening?"
I swallowed.
"Since after your wedding."
Dad slowly closed the notebook.
His face was pale.
Then I remembered the worst part.
The thing I had been too frightened to write.
"Daddy?"
He looked up.
I whispered, "She makes me give her money from Mommy's box."
Dad froze.
"What box?"
I looked toward my closet.
"The one you said was mine when I got older."
His expression changed instantly.
May you like
Because he knew exactly which box I meant.
And I knew he was finally beginning to understand why Denise had wanted me quiet.
