Chapter 1: The Price of Staying in My Own Home
The slap came so hard that my mother's photograph flew from my hand and landed faceup in a box of garbage.
“Two thousand dollars by Friday, Emily, or you can get out of my house.””
Vanessa stood in front of me with her fingers still curled from striking my cheek. Behind her, the pale blue curtains my mother had chosen twelve years earlier hung crookedly beside a window overlooking the rose garden Mom had planted before she died.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Not because Vanessa had hit me.
Because she had thrown away the last photograph of my mother.
“Why would you do that?”” I whispered.
Vanessa glanced at the picture on the floor, then stepped on its corner with her expensive heels.
“Because I'm tired of living in a house that looks like a shrine to a woman who's been dead for years.””
I pushed past her and snatched the photograph away.
It showed my mother sitting on the back porch, laughing at something outside the frame. I had been twelve when cancer took her. Since then, that picture had been the one thing I kept where I could see it every morning.
Now the glass was cracked.
“You had no right to touch her things,” I said.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I have every right. I'm married to your father. This is my home.””
“It's my home, too. I've lived here since I was twelve.””
“And you're nineteen now. Congratulations. You're an adult.””
She pointed toward the staircase, where a pile of laundry sat in a basket.
“Adults pay rent. Adults buy groceries. Adults contribute instead of sitting around expecting everyone to take care of them.””
I stared at her.
I worked twenty-five hours a week at a neighborhood grocery store. I attended community college classes during the day and studied at night. Almost every dollar I earned went into a savings account for transferring to a four-year university.
Dad knew all of that.
At least, I thought he did.
“I'm saving for college,” I reminded her.
“Dad said I could stay here while I finished school.””
Vanessa laughed sharply.
“Your father says a lot of things when he wants to feel like a good man. But I'm the one who runs this household while he's away on business.””
“Then talk to him. Don't throw my mother's belongings into the trash.””
Her expression hardened.
“You want to know what your problem is, Emily? You think being Michael's daughter makes you untouchable. You think you can live here forever because your mother died and everyone feels sorry for you.””
My throat tightened.
“Don't talk about her like that.””
“Or what?””
“Just leave her things alone.””
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Two thousand dollars. By Friday. Cash, transfer, I don't care. If you don't have it, you can pack whatever junk you have left and find somewhere else to live.””
“I don't have two thousand dollars.””
“Then you'd better figure something out.””
I turned toward the stairs, desperate to get away from her.
That was when she grabbed my wrist.
“Don't you walk away while I'm talking to you.””
“Let go of me.””
“Say you're sorry.””
“For what?””
“For disrespecting me in my own house.””
I pulled my arm free.
“I haven't done anything to you!””
Her palm struck my face before I could move.
The sound echoed through the living room.
I stumbled backward, clutching my mother's photograph against my chest. Heat spread across my cheek, and my eyes filled with tears I refused to let fall.
Vanessa straightened her blouse.
“Maybe now you'll learn to respect the person keeping a roof over your head.””
The front door opened.
My father walked in carrying his leather briefcase, his tie loosened and his phone pressed to his ear. He had returned from a business trip two days earlier than expected.
He stopped when he saw us.
“What's going on?””
“Dad!”” I rushed toward him.
“Vanessa slapped me!””
For one brief second, I thought everything would be all right.
Dad had held me when Mom died. He had promised me that no one would ever make me feel alone in this house.
But Vanessa moved faster.
She burst into tears, covered her mouth, and hurried into his arms.
“Michael, thank goodness you're home. Your daughter just threatened me!””
I stopped walking.
“What?””
Vanessa clung to his jacket.
“She came home screaming at me because I cleaned out some old garbage. Then she grabbed my arm and threatened to make me regret marrying you.””
“That's not true!”” I shouted.
Dad looked from Vanessa to me.
His eyes settled on my cheek.
“Emily, what happened to your face?””
“She hit me! Look at the photograph. She threw it away, and when I tried to save it, she slapped me!””
Vanessa shook her head, crying harder.
“Listen to her. She always does this. Everything has to be about her dead mother. I've tried so hard to make this family work, but she treats me like an intruder.””
Dad set his briefcase down.
“Everyone calm down.””
“I am calm,” Vanessa said immediately.
“I'm the one being attacked.””
Then she walked to the kitchen drawer, removed several sheets of paper, and placed them in Dad's hands.
“Since we're finally discussing the truth, maybe you should see these.””
Dad glanced at the pages.
His expression changed.
“Emily,” he said slowly, “why are there withdrawals from our household account?””
My stomach dropped.
“What withdrawals?””
Vanessa wiped her eyes and pointed to a highlighted line.
“Thousands of dollars. And when I asked her about it, she refused to explain.””
I looked at the bank statements.
The account number meant nothing to me.
“I've never touched that account,” I said.
Dad's jaw tightened.
“Then someone needs to explain where the money went.””
Vanessa gave me a small, triumphant look over his shoulder.
And I realized that the slap had been only the beginning.
May you like
Because whatever was on those papers, Vanessa had been waiting for Dad to come home before she showed them to him.
And she looked very sure that I would be the one who paid for it.
