Chapter 2
I had never seen my father look frightened before.
Not when he lost his job three years earlier.
Not when our basement flooded.
Not even when my mother packed her suitcase and disappeared from our lives.
But standing in Grandma Evelyn's kitchen, holding a deed with someone else's name on it, he looked terrified.
Only for a second.
Then his anger returned.
“You're really doing this in front of my children?”
Grandma didn't move.
“You humiliated your son in front of his sister.”
Dad laughed bitterly.
“So now I'm the villain?”
I stared at him.
He had ripped my paycheck.
He had called me pathetic.
And somehow, he was still the injured person.
Grandma held out her hand.
“Give me the deed.”
Dad hesitated.
Then he shoved it toward her.
“This is ridiculous.”
She placed it carefully on the counter.
“What's ridiculous is a grown man bullying his child over money he earned himself.”
Dad turned toward me.
“Malik, tell your grandmother what you said this morning.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Tell her how you refused to contribute.”
My stomach dropped.
That morning, he'd demanded two hundred dollars from my first check.
I had said I wanted to discuss it after I understood how much I needed for transportation and savings.
He called that disrespect.
“I didn't refuse to help,” I said.
“I asked why you needed it.”
Dad pointed at me.
“Exactly.”
Grandma frowned.
“Marcus, why are you asking Malik for money?”
“Because this household costs money.”
“Then show me the bills.”
He went silent.
I watched Grandma carefully.
Her expression changed.
Not into anger.
Into suspicion.
“Marcus,” she said slowly, “what bills are you talking about?”
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Mom, please.”
“I'm asking a simple question.”
He glanced at Maya.
“Can we discuss this privately?”
Grandma looked at us.
“Anything involving these children deserves honesty.”
Dad's voice rose.
“I'm their father!”
“And I'm your mother,” Grandma answered.
The words cracked through the room.
Dad stepped backward.
For a moment, I thought he might walk out.
Instead, he grabbed his car keys.
“Fine. You want to embarrass me? I'll leave.”
Maya made a frightened sound.
“Dad?”
He didn't look at her.
I watched him storm toward the door.
Then Grandma spoke.
“Marcus, leaving for the afternoon doesn't settle what happens next.”
He stopped.
His shoulders stiffened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we're going to have a serious conversation about how you treat your children and what you've been telling them.”
Dad turned.
“Are you threatening to throw me out?”
“I'm telling you I won't allow intimidation in my home.”
His mouth opened.
No words came.
Then he left.
The front door slammed hard enough to make Maya flinch.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then my sister started crying.
I immediately put my arm around her.
“Hey. It's okay.”
But she shook her head.
“No, it isn't.”
Grandma came toward us.
She pulled us both into her arms.
And that was when I finally broke.
I had been holding back tears since Dad destroyed my check.
Now they came all at once.
“I worked so hard, Grandma.”
“I know, baby.”
“I just wanted him to be proud.”
She rubbed my back.
“I know.”
My throat tightened.
“Why does he hate everything I do?”
Grandma pulled away just enough to look at me.
“Your father's behavior is wrong. But it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you.”
I wanted to believe her.
I really did.
After Maya went upstairs, Grandma brought me a glass of water.
I spread the torn paycheck across the island.
The two pieces fit together almost perfectly.
But the tear ran directly through the printed amount.
“Is it ruined?” I asked.
“Maybe not.”
She examined it.
“We can contact your employer and request a replacement or ask whether they can arrange a different payment.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“So I didn't lose everything?”
“No, sweetheart.”
She smiled.
“You earned that money. We're going to make sure you receive it.”
For the first time since Dad grabbed the check, I felt a little hope.
Then I noticed something.
Grandma was looking at the kitchen doorway.
Her expression was troubled.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“Why did Dad say he pays the mortgage?”
She took a deep breath.
“Because he's been lying.”
My stomach tightened.
“About what?”
She pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
I obeyed.
She sat across from me.
“This house belonged to your grandfather and me.”
I knew Grandpa Robert had died when I was six.
I remembered his booming laugh and the way he always smelled like peppermint candy.
Grandma smiled sadly.
“We bought this place thirty-two years ago. Your grandfather paid it off before he passed.”
I stared at her.
“Paid it off?”
“Yes.”
“So there's no mortgage?”
“No.”
I felt sick.
Dad had been telling us for years that he struggled to make the mortgage payment.
Whenever Maya needed school supplies, he'd complain about the mortgage.
Whenever I asked for basketball shoes, he'd mention the mortgage.
Even my mother had worked double shifts because he said the house was becoming too expensive.
“Then where does Dad's money go?”
Grandma looked away.
“I don't know.”
Something cold moved through my chest.
“You don't know?”
“Your father has been managing some household expenses. I trusted him to be honest about them.”
I thought about the expensive watch Dad bought last Christmas.
The new truck.
The weekends he disappeared.
He always said he was meeting clients.
But he hadn't held a steady job in almost a year.
My mouth went dry.
“Grandma, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Did Mom know?”
Grandma's expression changed.
“What do you mean?”
“Did Mom know the house was yours?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
My heart started pounding.
“Then why did she leave?”
Grandma looked down at her hands.
“Malik, your mother didn't leave because she stopped loving you.”
I felt an old wound tear open.
Dad had told us exactly that.
He said Mom couldn't handle raising us.
He said she chose freedom over family.
I had believed him.
For four years.
“Then why didn't she come back?”
Grandma's eyes filled.
“That's something your father and I should have helped you understand long ago.”
I pushed back my chair.
“Grandma, tell me.”
She reached for my hand.
“Your mother tried to contact you.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“She sent letters.”
I could barely breathe.
“Letters?”
Grandma nodded.
“And I only discovered recently that you never received them.”
I stared at her.
My entire childhood suddenly felt uncertain.
“Where are they?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“In a box I found in your father's storage closet.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Can I see them?”
Grandma stood.
“Yes.”
Then she said something I wasn't prepared to hear.
“Malik, there's one letter addressed to you that your mother wrote on the day she left.”
I swallowed.
“What does it say?”
Grandma's voice trembled.
“I haven't opened it.”
May you like
She squeezed my hand.
“But I think it's time you did.”
