Chapter 2

Uncle Ray did not yell.

That was how I knew things were bad.

He walked past me, bent down, and opened every bag with careful hands.

He checked the boxes.

The laundry basket.

The backpack.

Then he stood and looked at Darren.

“Where is the lockbox?”

Darren scoffed.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Uncle Ray turned to my mother.

“Lisa.”

She shook her head, crying.

“Ray, please don’t make this worse.”

He stared at her.

“Worse than your son’s life packed by the door?”

Darren stepped in.

“Tyler is old enough to leave. He’s been disrespectful.”

Uncle Ray’s eyes moved to him.

“Disrespectful how?”

“He questions everything.”

“He’s allowed.”

“He eats our food.”

“He buys half of it,” Uncle Ray said.

That made Darren blink.

I looked at my uncle.

“How do you know?”

“Because you told me when I asked why your paycheck disappeared every Friday.”

Mom looked at me.

“I didn’t know you were paying that much.”

I laughed once.

It hurt.

“You didn’t ask.”

She flinched like I had slapped her.

Maybe I wanted it to hurt.

Maybe I needed it to.

Uncle Ray pointed down the hall.

“Tyler, check your room.”

I walked past Mom.

She reached for me.

I moved away.

My room looked wrong.

Bare mattress.

Empty desk.

Drawers pulled open.

Closet half cleared.

The framed photo of Dad and me from my eighth-grade baseball game was still on the wall.

Everything else felt violated.

I opened the top drawer.

Empty.

I checked under the bed.

Nothing.

The loose floorboard near the vent had been lifted.

My heart stopped.

That was where I kept my savings envelope.

Four thousand three hundred dollars.

Money for community college classes.

Tools.

Maybe a used car that didn’t die every winter.

Gone.

I stepped into the hallway.

“They knew where it was.”

Mom covered her face.

Darren snapped, “Maybe you spent it.”

I looked at him.

“You found the floorboard.”

“I said I don’t know anything about money.”

Uncle Ray pulled out his phone.

“Then you won’t mind police asking.”

Mom panicked.

“No. Ray, wait.”

My uncle froze.

Slowly, he turned.

“What are you protecting?”

She cried harder.

Darren glared at her.

“Lisa.”

That one word told the whole story.

Control.

Warning.

Threat.

I looked at Mom.

“What did he do?”

She whispered, “He said we needed it for the mortgage.”

My stomach twisted.

“What mortgage?”

Uncle Ray went still.

Darren’s face hardened.

“The house has expenses.”

I looked at Mom.

“Dad’s life insurance paid off this house.”

Her lips trembled.

“It did.”

“Then what mortgage?”

No one answered.

Uncle Ray’s voice dropped.

“Lisa, did you borrow against the house?”

She wiped her face.

“I didn’t want to. Darren said it was just temporary.”

“For what?” I asked.

Darren said, “That’s adult business.”

I stepped toward him.

“I’m adult enough to get thrown out but not adult enough to ask why my father’s house has debt?”

Uncle Ray was already dialing.

This time, Mom did not stop him.

Police arrived twenty minutes later.

Officer Grant took statements in the living room while Darren performed calm innocence.

He said I was unstable.

Ungrateful.

Aggressive.

He said my mother had been “afraid to set boundaries.”

Then Officer Grant asked about my missing documents.

Darren’s calm cracked.

“They’re probably misplaced.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Officer Grant looked at Mom.

She was shaking.

“Ma’am?”

Mom whispered, “In the bedroom closet.”

Darren’s head snapped toward her.

“You stupid—”

Officer Grant stood.

“Sir, sit down.”

Uncle Ray stepped between them before Darren could move.

The documents were in a shoebox on the top shelf of my mother’s closet.

My birth certificate.

Social Security card.

Dad’s letters.

My savings envelope.

Empty.

Officer Grant photographed everything.

Then Mom did something I did not expect.

She pointed at Darren’s gym bag.

“He keeps cash in there.”

Darren lunged.

Uncle Ray caught him by the shirt and shoved him back onto the couch.

Officer Grant drew his taser.

“Hands where I can see them.”

Inside the gym bag was cash.

Not all of it.

But a thick stack.

Two thousand dollars.

Wrapped in my bank envelopes.

Darren turned red.

“That’s mine.”

I stared at him.

“With my name on the envelopes?”

Mom made a sound like she was breaking.

Officer Grant cuffed Darren for theft and obstruction.

As he was led out, Darren looked at my mother.

“You’ll regret this.”

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I looked at him.

“No. She already does.”