Chapter 2
I put Rosie in her car seat with hands that would not stop shaking.
She watched the house over my shoulder.
“Are they coming?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Grandpa threw the cup.”
“I know.”
“Was it because of me?”
I stopped buckling her.
The question almost broke me.
“No.”
I crouched beside her.
“None of this was because of you.”
Her lip trembled.
“But Aunt Bethany said I ruin parties.”
“She lied.”
Rosie looked down at her little shoes.
“They all laughed.”
I closed my eyes.
I had heard laughter when I pulled into the driveway.
I had thought it was birthday cake.
Family stories.
Normal noise.
Now I wondered if the laughter came while Rosie cried.
I drove straight to the emergency room.
Not home.
Not somewhere quiet.
Some wounds needed records.
The nurse saw Rosie’s cheek and called a doctor immediately.
When they asked what happened, Rosie froze.
I held her hand.
“You can tell the truth.”
She whispered, “Aunt Bethany squeezed me.”
The doctor’s eyes changed.
“Where?”
Rosie pointed to her arms.
“And my face.”
I felt my throat close.
The doctor photographed everything.
My shoulder too.
The glass cut was shallow but bleeding.
A police officer arrived thirty minutes later.
Officer Lane.
Kind voice.
Sharp eyes.
He asked Rosie if she wanted me to stay.
She nodded hard.
So I stayed.
“She said I was soft,” Rosie whispered. “She said Daddy made me weak.”
Officer Lane wrote it down.
Then he asked, “Did anyone try to stop her?”
Rosie looked at me.
I already knew the answer.
“No.”
That word filled the hospital room.
No.
No one stopped her.
No one protected my child.
No one even called me.
My phone began buzzing.
Mom.
Dad.
Bethany.
My older brother, Paul.
Then a text from Evelyn.
You embarrassed this family. Bring Rosie back and apologize.
I showed it to Officer Lane.
He took a picture.
Then another text came.
Dad.
You have five minutes to fix this before I tell the court what kind of father you really are.
My stomach turned cold.
The court.
Rosie’s custody case with my late wife’s estate had closed years ago.
Why would my father mention court?
Then Rosie tugged my sleeve.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Grandma said if I told, I’d go live in Mommy’s old house.”
My blood went cold.
May you like
Rosie’s mother, Claire, had died two years earlier.
And her old house was supposed to be sold.
