Chapter 4
Daniel lived twenty minutes away in a quiet townhouse with warm lights and no family portraits judging from the walls.
His wife, Maya, opened the door before I knocked.
She saw Rosie and covered her mouth.
“Oh, baby.”
Rosie hid behind my leg.
Maya crouched but did not reach.
“I have strawberry yogurt if you want some.”
Rosie peeked out.
“With sprinkles?”
Maya nodded.
“Emergency sprinkles.”
Rosie followed her inside.
Daniel looked at my bandaged shoulder.
“Who did it?”
“My father threw a glass.”
His jaw tightened.
“And Rosie?”
“Bethany.”
He swore under his breath.
Daniel had known my family since college.
He had seen the polished dinners.
The quiet insults.
The way my mother made cruelty sound like concern.
He had also warned me for years.
I hated that he had been right.
Amanda came over at midnight with a folder.
She looked tired and furious.
“Your father filed a petition this afternoon.”
I stared at her.
“For what?”
“To remove you as trustee of Rosie’s inheritance.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“On what grounds?”
Amanda opened the folder.
“Alleged emotional instability. Neglect. Financial mismanagement. And evidence of physical marks on the child.”
I felt sick.
“They made those marks.”
“Yes.”
Maya returned from settling Rosie on the couch with blankets.
“She said something about a closet.”
My head snapped up.
“What closet?”
Maya’s eyes filled.
“She said Aunt Bethany put her in the coat closet because she cried for you.”
I stood too quickly.
Amanda grabbed my arm.
“Mark. Breathe.”
“I need to go back there.”
“No. Police go back. You stay with Rosie.”
My phone buzzed again.
Paul.
For once, I answered.
His voice was tight.
“What the hell did you do?”
“I took my child to the hospital.”
“You hit Bethany.”
“She bruised Rosie.”
A pause.
Then he said, “Mom said Rosie fell.”
I closed my eyes.
“Paul, you were there.”
“I was in the kitchen when it happened.”
“Then why are you calling like you know?”
He said nothing.
I heard doubt enter his breathing.
“Paul,” I said, “did you see Dad throw the glass?”
“Yes.”
“Then ask yourself what kind of man throws glass at a child leaving a room.”
The line went quiet.
Then he whispered, “Mom told us you were going to steal Rosie’s trust.”
My chest tightened.
There it was.
Not discipline.
May you like
Not family honor.
Money.
