Chapter 3
Dad knocked on Leo’s door ten minutes later.
His face looked older.
Not tired.
Older.
Like something inside him had cracked and shown him a room he did not know existed.
“Ava,” he said, “can you pack a bag for tonight?”
My chest tightened.
“Am I leaving?”
“No.” His voice broke. “I am.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Monica is going to stay with her sister tonight. Leo is staying here with me. You can stay too, or with Rachel, whichever feels safer.”
Safer.
My father had never asked me that about his house before.
Because it had always been assumed.
His house was safe.
Until it wasn’t.
I looked at Leo.
He held his dragon in both hands.
“Is Mom mad?” he whispered.
Dad crouched.
“Mom and I need to talk about grown-up things. None of this is your fault.”
Leo’s eyes filled.
“Is Ava still my sister?”
Dad pulled him close.
“Always.”
I looked away fast.
Aunt Rachel helped me pack clothes from my room.
Nothing had been moved.
That almost made it worse.
My room looked like mine.
Books on the shelf.
Stars on the ceiling.
Photo of Mom and me taped beside the mirror.
But the front door had said otherwise.
Aunt Rachel touched the photo.
“Your mom would have driven her car through that door.”
I laughed through tears.
“She would not.”
“She absolutely would.”
Downstairs, Monica stood by the kitchen island with her purse on her shoulder.
Her face was stiff.
Dad stood several feet away.
“You need to apologize to Ava,” he said.
Monica looked at me.
“I’m sorry your feelings were hurt.”
Aunt Rachel made a sound like a warning siren.
Dad said, “Try again.”
Monica’s eyes filled.
Not with regret.
With anger.
“I am sorry I changed the locks without discussing it.”
“And?”
She swallowed.
“I am sorry I told Leo things that may have confused him.”
“May have?” Aunt Rachel snapped.
Dad raised one hand.
His eyes stayed on Monica.
“And?”
Monica looked at me.
For one second, the mask dropped.
I saw resentment.
Pure and bright.
“I’m sorry you stood in the rain.”
That was the closest she could get.
I nodded once.
Not acceptance.
Just acknowledgment.
Then she left.
Leo watched from the stairs as her car backed out.
He whispered, “She didn’t hug me.”
Dad closed his eyes.
Then he went upstairs and held his son.
I stayed that night.
Not because I felt fully safe.
Because Leo asked me to.
And because Dad slept on the couch outside our rooms, like a guard.
The next morning, I woke to voices downstairs.
Dad and Aunt Rachel.
I stopped at the top of the stairs.
Aunt Rachel said, “This isn’t just a bad choice, David.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because Ava has been trying to tell you for months.”
My stomach dropped.
Dad was silent.
Aunt Rachel continued.
“She told me Monica made comments. You said blending families takes time.”
“I thought—”
“You thought your new wife was uncomfortable, so your daughter should be patient.”
Each word hit like a small truth I had been afraid to say.
Dad whispered, “I failed her.”
I sat on the stair, hand over my mouth.
Aunt Rachel’s voice softened.
“Then fix it. Not with guilt. With action.”
That afternoon, Dad called a family counselor.
Then a locksmith.
He had the locks changed again.
This time, I stood beside him.
The locksmith handed Dad four new keys.
Dad handed the first one to me.
“This is yours.”
I stared at it.
“It works?”
He walked me to the door.
“Try.”
My hand shook as I slid it in.
The lock turned.
The door opened.
Dad’s eyes were wet.
“No one changes this without you knowing again.”
May you like
I closed my fingers around the key.
For the first time since the rain, I breathed.
