Chapter 2

Dad reached Aunt Rachel’s apartment twenty minutes later.

He came straight from work, still wearing his mechanic uniform, hands stained with grease, face pale with panic.

When I opened the door, he pulled me into his arms so hard I could barely breathe.

“I didn’t know,” he said immediately. “Ava, I swear to you, I didn’t know.”

I wanted to believe him.

That was the painful part.

I did believe him.

Mostly.

But believing he hadn’t known did not erase the fact that Monica felt powerful enough to lock me out.

Aunt Rachel stood behind me with her arms crossed.

“Then who changed the locks, David?”

Dad let go of me slowly.

His jaw tightened.

“Monica said the front lock was sticking. She told me she scheduled a locksmith.”

“And didn’t mention excluding your daughter?”

“No.”

Aunt Rachel’s voice sharpened.

“Did she mention boundaries?”

Dad looked at me.

I showed him the text.

His face changed.

Not anger first.

Shock.

Then anger.

Deep.

Quiet.

“Ava,” he said, “get your things. We’re going home.”

I flinched.

Aunt Rachel saw it.

“She doesn’t have to go back tonight.”

Dad looked wounded.

Then he nodded.

“You’re right.”

That mattered.

He took a breath.

“Do you want to come with me to get your clothes? Or stay here while I handle it?”

I looked down.

Part of me wanted to hide.

Part of me wanted to see Monica’s face when Dad opened that door.

“I’ll come.”

Aunt Rachel grabbed her coat.

“So will I.”

Dad did not argue.

When we pulled into the driveway, Monica opened the front door before we reached the porch.

She looked annoyed.

Not guilty.

“David, why is Rachel here?”

Dad held up my key.

“Open the door.”

“It is open.”

“For Ava.”

Monica glanced at me.

“She could have called before coming over.”

Dad’s voice went flat.

“This is her home.”

Monica sighed.

“We discussed structure.”

“No,” Dad said. “You discussed it with yourself.”

Her eyes flashed.

“Don’t do this in front of her.”

Aunt Rachel laughed coldly.

“Funny. You locked her out in front of the whole neighborhood.”

Monica’s face reddened.

Dad stepped inside.

I followed, dripping rainwater onto the mat.

Leo ran from the kitchen.

“Ava!”

He threw himself at me.

I hugged him with one arm.

He whispered, “Mom said you don’t live here anymore.”

Dad heard.

His face went white.

Monica snapped, “Leo, go to your room.”

“No,” Dad said.

Everyone froze.

He knelt in front of Leo.

“Ava does live here. She is your sister. Nobody gets to say otherwise.”

Leo looked at Monica.

“But Mom said Ava makes you sad.”

I stopped breathing.

Dad turned slowly.

“What?”

Monica lifted her chin.

“I said your situation with Ava is complicated.”

Leo shook his head.

“You said she reminds Dad of dead Mom.”

The room went silent.

Aunt Rachel whispered, “Oh, hell no.”

I could not move.

My mother had died when I was ten.

Dad and I had survived that grief together.

Pizza on the floor.

Therapy.

Forgotten laundry.

Crying in grocery store aisles because Mom used to buy cinnamon gum.

And Monica had turned my existence into a wound.

Dad stood.

“Leo, go upstairs with Ava for a minute.”

Leo hesitated.

I took his hand.

“Come on. Show me your Lego dragon.”

He nodded, but his eyes were scared.

As we climbed the stairs, I heard Dad say, “What have you been telling my children?”

Monica answered too softly for me to hear.

Then Aunt Rachel’s voice cut through.

“Say it louder.”

I took Leo to his room.

He pulled out a dragon with one wing.

“I saved it for you.”

My throat hurt.

“I love it.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, buddy.”

“Mom said if you moved away, Dad would smile more.”

I sat on his bed.

“Leo, grown-ups sometimes say wrong things when they feel jealous or scared.”

“Mom was jealous?”

I looked toward the hallway.

“I think maybe she didn’t understand that love doesn’t run out.”

He thought about that.

“Like Lego pieces?”

“Exactly. You can build more.”

Downstairs, something slammed.

Leo flinched.

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I hugged him.

For once, I was not the only child in that house being taught to fear.