Chapter 1
The morning sun filtered through my bedroom curtains,
mocking me with its brightness.
I sat on the edge of the bed,
my eyes heavy and burning from a night without sleep.
Graham was still asleep,
his breathing rhythmic and shallow.
His cheek was no longer bright red,
but a dark, angry bruise had begun to bloom across his skin.
Every time I looked at it,
a wave of nausea washed over me.
My mother came home at dawn.
I heard the key turn in the lock.
I heard the heavy thud of her work bag hitting the floor.
I waited for her to run to the hallway.
I waited for her to ask about her son.
Instead, there was only the sound of her pouring coffee.
The silence stretched,
taut as a piano wire.
I didn't open the door.
I couldn't.
I was terrified of what I would see in her eyes.
I realized then that she hadn't come home to protect us.
She had come home to handle a disruption.
I heard Austin’s voice outside the front door,
muffled but demanding.
He was pleading his case,
twisting the narrative into something pathetic.
My mother wasn't yelling at him.
She was listening.
She was whispering.
My heart hammered against my ribs,
a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
I grabbed my phone and started recording,
not knowing why,
only knowing that I needed proof.
I crept to the door and pressed my ear against the wood.
"She's overprotective, Cynthia," Austin said,
his voice oily and smooth.
"She's sensitive, like the kid.
They're both too much to handle."
My mother’s voice was barely a murmur,
but it cut deeper than any shout.
"I know, Austin. I’m sorry.
She’s just… she’s at that age where she thinks she knows everything.
I’ll talk to her.
I’ll make her apologize."
The floor seemed to tilt.
Apologize?
For defending my brother from physical abuse?
I felt a coldness settle in my marrow,
a realization that the woman in the kitchen was a stranger.
She was choosing the man who had brought violence into our home
over the children who had kept it standing.
I walked back to the bed and sat down.
I didn't cry.
I was past the point of tears.
I was entering the phase of survival.
I looked at Graham,
sleeping so trustingly.
He didn't know that the person meant to be our sanctuary
was planning to betray us.
I needed a plan.
I needed a way out.
May you like
And I knew, with chilling certainty,
that I couldn't rely on my mother for anything ever again.
