Chapter 4
The house looked smaller after Darren was arrested.
Not safer.
Just exposed.
His boots were still by the door.
His motorcycle helmet sat on the hall table.
A six-pack sweated on the kitchen counter.
Dad’s robe lay over the back of the recliner.
I picked it up with two fingers.
Mom watched from the doorway.
“Don’t throw that away,” she said.
I looked at her.
“It’s Dad’s.”
“I know.”
“Then why did he wear it?”
Her mouth trembled.
“I don’t know.”
That answer was not enough.
But for once, it sounded honest.
I folded the robe and carried it to my room.
Mom did not stop me.
The next morning, Aunt Rosa came over with Mr. Callahan.
Mom looked humiliated when she opened the door.
Aunt Rosa did not hug her.
That hurt Mom more than yelling would have.
We sat at the dining room table where Dad used to help me with math homework.
Mr. Callahan placed papers in front of Mom.
“Linda, we need a full accounting of household funds connected to Elijah’s contributions.”
Mom stared at the table.
“I used the money for bills.”
“Some, perhaps,” he said. “We need records.”
Aunt Rosa leaned forward.
“And we need Darren out.”
“He’s in jail,” Mom whispered.
“He has belongings here. He has residency claims if you let him back in. You need a protective order.”
Mom shook her head.
“He’ll calm down.”
I stood.
The chair scraped hard.
“Then I’m leaving.”
Mom looked up fast.
“No.”
“If you bring him back, I’m gone. And I’ll pursue every legal option over this house.”
Her face went pale.
“You would take me to court?”
“I would stop letting you take me for granted.”
Aunt Rosa closed her eyes like the sentence hit her too.
Mom started crying.
“I made mistakes.”
I laughed once.
Charging me rent was a mistake.
Letting Darren freeload was a mistake.
Planning to push me out was a choice.
But I was too tired to correct her language.
Mr. Callahan spoke gently.
“Linda, if you cooperate, this can remain a family matter with legal boundaries. If you hide records or allow Mr. Pike back into the home, it becomes more serious.”
Mom nodded.
For the next three hours, we opened drawers, bank apps, envelopes, and ugly truths.
My rent payments went into Mom’s checking.
From there, some paid utilities.
Some bought groceries.
But hundreds had gone to Darren.
Bike insurance.
Credit card payments.
Liquor store charges.
A new leather jacket.
My hands shook when I saw that one.
The jacket cost $389.
Almost exactly one month of my rent.
Mom covered her face.
“I thought he’d pay me back.”
“You charged me late fees,” I said.
She lowered her hands.
“What?”
“When my car battery died. I paid three days late. You added twenty-five dollars.”
She started crying again.
I was running out of sympathy for tears.
Aunt Rosa reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
Mom saw it.
Something like shame passed over her face.
Good.
Let it stay.
That afternoon, Mom filed for a protective order.
Darren was released the next day and ordered not to come near the house.
That did not stop him from texting her.
At first, she hid it.
Then I caught her crying over her phone in the laundry room.
I held out my hand.
“Give it to me.”
She clutched the phone.
“He’s upset.”
“He threatened me.”
“He lost his temper.”
“He grabbed your wrist.”
“He doesn’t have anyone.”
I stared at her.
“Neither did I when Dad died.”
She went still.
I had never said it that plainly.
“You had me,” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “I had a mother who disappeared into grief, then handed our house to the first man who made her feel wanted.”
Her face collapsed.
I hated hurting her.
I hated more that the truth sounded cruel only because we had avoided it so long.
She gave me the phone.
Darren’s messages filled the screen.
You owe me.
Your son ruined us.
I know where the trust papers are.
Don’t make me tell him what really happened to his dad’s money.
My blood went cold.
“What does that mean?”
Mom snatched the phone back.
“Nothing.”
I looked at her.
“What happened to Dad’s money?”
May you like
She looked away.
And just like that, the house opened another trapdoor beneath my feet.
