Chapter 2
My father's words stayed suspended between us.
"I told you this would happen."
I stared at him.
"What exactly did you tell her would happen?"
He opened his mouth.
Mother interrupted.
"Everett, don't."
I turned toward her.
"Don't what? Tell the truth?"
She crossed her arms.
"Gabriel, this is a misunderstanding."
I held up the authorization.
"Then why is my signature on a document I've never seen?"
Mother looked toward the staircase.
"Lower your voice. You'll wake Amelia."
The hypocrisy nearly made me laugh.
She had spent months frightening my daughter.
Now she wanted to protect her sleep.
"Answer me."
Mother's eyes narrowed.
"I handled some expenses while you were traveling."
"With Amelia's trust?"
"Your daughter requires attention. Food. Transportation. Supervision."
"Those are ordinary household expenses."
"And who provided those things?"
I stared at her.
"You lived here for free."
Mother flinched.
I continued.
"You and Dad moved into my house after your apartment flooded. You told me it would be temporary."
"That was nine months ago," she said sharply.
"Exactly."
"You asked us to help with Amelia!"
"I asked you to love her."
Mother's face hardened.
"Love doesn't pay bills."
I felt sick.
"Neither does stealing from a child."
My father stepped forward.
"Gabriel, please listen."
I looked at him.
"Did you sign this?"
He shook his head.
"Did you know?"
He hesitated.
That was enough.
I took out my phone.
Mother's expression changed immediately.
"Who are you calling?"
"Westbridge."
"It's after business hours."
"They have a fraud department."
"You're overreacting."
I dialed anyway.
A recorded voice answered.
I followed the instructions until I reached the emergency account-security line.
While I waited, Mother began pacing.
"Do you know what an accusation like this could do to our family?"
I looked at her.
"You should have considered that before taking Amelia's money."
She stopped.
"We didn't steal anything."
"We?"
Silence.
I turned toward Father.
He closed his eyes.
A representative finally answered.
I identified myself and explained that I had discovered a payment authorization containing a signature I did not recognize as mine.
The representative asked several security questions.
Then she placed the account under temporary restriction while a fraud review was opened.
"Are there other disbursements?" I asked.
She hesitated.
"I'm unable to discuss the full account history until additional verification is completed."
"Can you tell me whether this is the only payment?"
Another pause.
"No, Mr. Hart."
My stomach dropped.
"How many?"
"I recommend speaking with our investigations department first thing tomorrow."
I thanked her and ended the call.
Mother stood motionless.
Father looked older than he had an hour earlier.
I held up my phone.
"The account is frozen."
Mother pressed a hand against her chest.
"You had no right."
I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"No right?"
"We've done everything for that girl."
"Don't call her that girl."
"You're choosing an ungrateful child over your own parents."
Something inside me settled.
For years, I'd mistaken Mother's control for concern.
I'd mistaken Father's silence for patience.
Now I understood the cost.
"Pack your things."
Mother blinked.
"What?"
"I want you both out of this house."
"Gabriel!"
"Tomorrow morning. You can stay in a hotel tonight if you prefer. But you are not caring for Amelia again."
Father raised his hands.
"Let's not make permanent decisions tonight."
I looked at him.
"You watched my daughter eat on the floor."
His hands slowly dropped.
I waited for an apology.
None came.
Mother stepped closer.
"If you throw us out, you'll regret it."
I met her eyes.
"Maybe. But Amelia won't."
I walked upstairs before she could answer.
At my bedroom door, I noticed something unusual.
The hallway closet was open.
A small cardboard box sat on the floor.
Inside were several of Amelia's school notebooks.
One had her name written in purple marker.
I picked it up.
Between the pages was a folded sheet of paper.
At the top, in Amelia's handwriting, were four words.
Things I Must Remember.
Below them was a list.
Don't cry where Grandma can see.
Don't ask Daddy to come home.
Don't tell Mrs. Collins about dinner.
Don't touch Mommy's pictures.
Don't make Grandma angry.
My hands began shaking.
I read the list again.
Then I noticed something on the final line.
If Daddy finds out, Grandma says he might send me away.
I sat on the hallway floor.
For several minutes, I couldn't move.
I had worked so hard to give Amelia everything after Nora's death.
A beautiful home.
Good schools.
Financial security.
I had failed to notice that she didn't feel safe inside any of it.
I pressed the notebook against my chest.
Then I heard a door creak.
Amelia stood outside her bedroom.
She wore pink pajamas and held her stuffed rabbit.
"Daddy?"
I stood quickly.
"Why are you awake, sweetheart?"
She looked at the notebook.
Her face drained.
"Where did you get that?"
I approached slowly.
"From the hallway closet."
She began backing away.
"Grandma said I wasn't supposed to write those things."
"Amelia."
"I was going to throw it away."
"Sweetheart, you're not in trouble."
She started crying.
"I didn't tell anybody. I promise."
I knelt.
"Come here."
She shook her head.
"Grandma said if I told you, you'd think I was difficult."
I couldn't speak.
Then she whispered something worse.
"She said you already wished I was more like Bryce."
I pulled her into my arms.
"No."
Her small body trembled.
"No, baby. Never."
She buried her face against my shoulder.
"I tried to be good."
"You are good."
"I tried so hard."
I held her tighter.
"You don't have to try to deserve my love."
She cried until her breathing became uneven.
I carried her to my bedroom and let her sleep beside me.
Biscuit curled up near the bed.
At nearly midnight, my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
I expected spam.
Instead, I saw a photograph.
It showed Amelia kneeling beside a bucket in our laundry room.
Her hands were submerged in dirty water.
The picture had been taken through the kitchen window.
Below it was a message.
Your mother has been doing this for months.
And the money is only the beginning.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
Check the basement before she empties it.
I looked toward the bedroom door.
May you like
Downstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Someone was still awake.
