Chapter 1
I walked into my parents’ dining room with my four-year-old daughter pressed against my chest.
Rosie was not crying anymore.
That scared me more than tears would have.
Her small fingers were locked in my sweatshirt.
A purple bruise bloomed across her cheek.
Red finger-shaped marks circled both of her arms.
The table went silent.
One second, my family was laughing over wine and roast beef.
The next, every fork stopped.
Every face turned toward me.
I looked at my sister.
Bethany sat at the far end of the table with one leg crossed over the other, a glass of wine in her hand, and a smile that did not belong anywhere near my injured child.
I kept my voice low.
“Who did this to my daughter?”
My mother gasped.
My father set down his knife.
Bethany rolled her eyes.
“She was being dramatic.”
Rosie whimpered into my chest.
My heart turned to stone.
Bethany lifted her wineglass.
“It was a joke, Mark. She needed toughening up. You spoil her because her mother left.”
The room tilted.
Rosie’s mother had not left.
She had died.
Everyone at that table knew it.
I shifted Rosie securely onto one hip.
Then I stepped forward.
Bethany’s smile faded just before my hand struck her across the face.
Her wineglass dropped and stained the carpet red.
“You touched my child,” I said.
No one spoke.
I turned away from them and checked Rosie’s cheek with trembling fingers.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “Can we go home?”
“Yes, baby.”
I carried her toward the front door.
My mother rushed after me.
“Come back here, you bastard!”
I stopped at the threshold.
Rosie clung tighter.
I looked back at the people I had called family for thirty-six years.
“She is my family,” I said. “You are not.”
My father stood.
His face twisted with rage.
He grabbed a clear glass from the table and hurled it toward us.
I turned my back and covered Rosie’s head with my arm.
May you like
The glass shattered against the doorframe behind me.
And something inside me broke with it.
