She never finished anything when there was still a way to make me suffer.
My father carried my briefcase into the living room and sat beside me on the sofa.
Vanessa followed, her heels striking the floor with angry little clicks.
“Richard, we need to discuss this privately.””
“No.””
She stopped.
“No?””
“You heard me.
We’re discussing it here.””
He turned toward Ava and Caleb.
“Both of you, sit down.””
Ava folded her arms.
“Why?
We didn’t do anything.””
“Then you should have no trouble answering a few questions.””
Caleb picked up his phone.
“Dad, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is.””
My father held out his hand.
“Give me the phone.””
Caleb looked at Vanessa.
She gave him a tiny nod.
He placed the phone in my father’s palm.
Dad tapped the screen.
The video played.
First came Vanessa’s voice.
Why would I waste my money on someone else’s child?
Then my own voice.
I just wanted to know if you remembered me.
My father watched as Vanessa seized my sweater and dragged me toward the entrance.
He watched me stumble.
He watched Ava laugh.
He watched Caleb record me.
When the video ended, the room remained silent.
My father slowly set the phone on the coffee table.
“Caleb,” he said, “why were you recording your sister being hurt?””
Caleb shrugged.
“I thought it was funny.””
“Funny?””
“I didn’t know you were coming home.””
The answer seemed to disgust my father more than the video itself.
“So if I hadn’t arrived, you would have thought it was perfectly acceptable?””
Caleb’s mouth opened, then closed.
Ava spoke quickly.
“Nia is always making Mom upset.
She knows how to push people’s buttons.””
My father looked at her.
“Give me one example.””
Ava’s confidence faltered.
“She… she complains about things.””
“What things?””
“She wants attention.””
I felt my face grow hot.
My father leaned forward.
“She’s fourteen years old, Ava.
Wanting attention from her family is not a crime.””
Ava looked toward Vanessa.
Vanessa finally dropped the performance.
“You are humiliating me in front of the children.””
“No,” my father replied.
“I’m asking why my daughter is afraid of you.””
“I am not afraid of her!”” I blurted.
Everyone turned toward me.
I had spoken too loudly.
Vanessa’s eyes flashed.
My father crouched in front of me again.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to protect anyone right now.””
My lips trembled.
“I’m not protecting her.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
I stared at my hands.
I wanted to tell him everything.
About the mornings I had gone to school hungry because Vanessa said breakfast wasn’t her responsibility.
About the winter coat she had refused to replace, even after my fingers turned numb waiting for the school bus.
About the birthday when I had spent the entire afternoon alone in my room while Ava and Caleb celebrated theirs with a rented party venue, a chocolate fountain, and dozens of guests.
About the time Vanessa had thrown away the last photograph I had of my mother because she said the house was not a shrine to a dead woman.
But every memory carried the same fear.
Do you want to ruin your daddy’s marriage?
I looked at my father.
“Can we talk later?””
He didn’t push me.
“All right.””
Vanessa released a breath, visibly relieved.
Then my father turned toward her.
“But we will talk now.””
She stiffened.
“Richard—”
“I want to see Nia’s bedroom.””
Vanessa stared at him.
“What?””
“Her bedroom.
I want to see it.””
“Why?
It’s a child’s room.””
“Exactly.””
She laughed nervously.
“This is absurd.””
My father stood and offered me his hand.
“Show me, sweetheart.””
I took it.
As we crossed the entrance hall, I noticed the shattered vase still lying beside the console table.
One of its blue porcelain fragments had slid beneath the staircase.
Vanessa followed us.
“You cannot seriously believe that I mistreat her because of one argument.””
My father didn’t answer.
We climbed the stairs.
My bedroom was at the end of a long hallway, opposite the guest suite and several enormous rooms that Ava and Caleb used for their clothes, games, and hobbies.
I opened my door.
The room smelled faintly of detergent and old books.
My bed had a thin white blanket.
The desk beside the window was scratched and uneven.
One drawer was held shut with a strip of tape because the handle had broken months earlier.
My wardrobe contained six school outfits, two pairs of jeans, and several sweaters that had once belonged to someone else.
My father stepped inside.
He looked at the bare walls.
Then at the small bottle of inexpensive conditioner beside my hairbrush.
Then at the cracked sole of the spare sneakers under my bed.
“Nia,” he said softly, “when did you last get new clothes?””
I tried to remember.
“Last year, I think.””
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
“She grows so quickly that buying expensive clothes is pointless.””
My father opened the wardrobe.
“These aren’t expensive clothes.
They’re barely enough clothes.””
“She doesn’t care about fashion.””
“I didn’t ask whether she cares about fashion.””
He pulled out a thin jacket.
“This is what she wears in winter?””
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“If she needs something, she can ask me.””
I looked at the floor.
“I did ask.””
My father turned toward me.
“When?””
“Before school started.””
“What did she say?””
I hesitated.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Nia, be careful about what you’re saying.””
My father raised a hand.
“Don’t interrupt her.””
My heart hammered.
“She said there wasn’t enough money for everything I wanted.””
My father frowned.
“Did you ask for something specific?””
“A winter coat.
And shampoo for my hair.””
“Anything else?””
I swallowed.
“A new pair of shoes for school.””
My father turned toward Vanessa.
“Did you buy them?””
She lifted her chin.
“I was planning to.””
“When?””
“Richard, I cannot be expected to keep a detailed account of every little thing a growing child asks for.””
He stared at her.
“You’ve managed to keep detailed accounts of every luxury vacation you’ve taken.””
Her mouth tightened.
“That is completely different.””
“Why?””
“Because I’m your wife!””
“And Nia is my daughter.””
The words landed with quiet force.
For once, Vanessa had no immediate answer.
My father returned the jacket to the wardrobe.
Then he noticed a small wooden box beneath my desk.
He knelt and lifted it carefully.
“What’s this?””
I rushed toward him.
“Please, Daddy.
Don’t.””
He stopped immediately.
“All right.
I won’t open it.””
I hugged the box against my chest.
Inside were the few things I had left of my mother: a faded photograph, a silver hair clip, and a folded birthday card with her handwriting on the front.
Vanessa had once threatened to throw the box away.
I had hidden it beneath a loose floorboard until I found a safer place.
My father looked at me, his expression softening.
“You can keep whatever makes you feel close to her.””
Tears filled my eyes.
“Thank you.””
He brushed a curl away from my cheek.
Then he turned toward Vanessa.
“We need to discuss the household finances.””
Her face changed so quickly that I almost missed it.
“What do the finances have to do with this?””
“Everything, if you’ve been telling my daughter there’s no money for basic necessities.””
“I never said we were poor!””
“You told her she couldn’t have a winter coat.””
“Because she didn’t need one!””
My father stared at her for a long moment.
Then he took out his phone.
“I’ll have our accountant review the household expenses.””
Vanessa went perfectly still.
“That is unnecessary.””
“Perhaps.””
“Richard, please.
You’re overreacting because you saw one emotional moment.””
He looked at the torn collar of my sweater.
“One emotional moment?””
She forced a laugh.
“You know how children exaggerate.””
My father didn’t respond.
Instead, he asked me to wait in my room while he spoke with Vanessa.
I wanted to obey.
But as I reached the door, I heard her voice drop to a whisper.
“You promised me you would never investigate the money.””
I stopped breathing.
My father answered slowly.
“What money?””
For several seconds, there was no sound.
Then Vanessa said something that made my fingers go cold.
“The money you transfer every month for Nia’s care.””