Chapter 1 - THE QUESTION THAT BROKE ME
The first thing my father looked at when I walked through his front door wasn't my face.
It wasn't the purple swelling beneath my left eye.
It wasn't the split in my lower lip.
It wasn't the way I was holding my ribs whenever I thought nobody was watching.
He looked at my three-year-old daughter, Lily, who was asleep against my shoulder.
Then he looked at the suitcase in my hand.
And finally, he looked at me.
For three long seconds, nobody spoke.
Christmas lights blinked behind him. The dining room was decorated for the family dinner I'd been too afraid to attend. A turkey sat beneath a silver cover. Candles burned on the table. My mother stood behind my father wearing a green velvet dress, her hand pressed against her chest.
My younger brother, Daniel, appeared in the hallway.
His eyes widened.
"Anna?"
I swallowed.
"Can I come in?"
My father stepped aside.
That was when my mother noticed the bruise.
"Oh, my God."
She rushed toward me.
I instinctively stepped backward.
She stopped.
Her expression changed.
Not into anger.
Not into fear.
Into something that looked almost like calculation.
"Who did that?"
My throat tightened.
I looked down at Lily.
She stirred against my shoulder.
"Mom," I whispered. "Not here."
My father closed the door.
"Anna, who hurt you?"
I didn't answer.
He walked closer.
His eyes moved over my face again.
"Was it Derek?"
The room went silent.
I nodded once.
My mother gasped.
Daniel cursed under his breath.
My father stared at me.
Then he asked the question that would haunt me for months.
"Is Derek still sending the three thousand?"
I thought I'd misheard him.
"What?"
"The money," Dad said impatiently. "The three thousand dollars he gives us every month."
I stared at him.
My mother immediately cut in.
"Your father doesn't mean it like that."
But he did.
I knew he did.
I slowly lowered Lily onto the couch.
She was still wearing her little red Christmas dress.
Her cheek was damp from tears she'd cried in the car.
I crouched beside her and pulled the blanket around her.
Then I stood.
"Yes," I said quietly. "He stopped it."
My father's face changed.
"Why?"
I almost laughed.
Because there I was, standing in front of him with a swollen eye and blood still dried beneath my nose, and he wanted to know why his monthly payment had stopped.
"Because I left him."
My mother looked toward the floor.
"Anna..."
"No." I shook my head. "I want to hear Dad finish."
My father straightened.
"We have bills."
"So do I."
"Your mother has medication."
"So do I."
"You know how difficult things have been."
I looked at the beautiful dining room.
The expensive decorations.
The new chandelier.
The designer coat hanging beside the door.
Then I looked back at him.
"How difficult?"
Nobody answered.
I felt something inside me crack.
Not my lip.
Not my ribs.
Something deeper.
Something I'd spent years protecting.
Family.
"How much did Derek give you this year?"
My father looked away.
My mother whispered, "It's complicated."
"How much?"
Daniel finally spoke.
"Thirty-six thousand."
My stomach turned.
Thirty-six thousand dollars.
Every year.
For three years.
One hundred and eight thousand dollars.
My husband had beaten me while my parents lived on his money.
And apparently, the money mattered more than the bruises.
I picked up my suitcase.
My father frowned.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know."
"You came here."
"I thought I came home."
The words hurt more than I expected.
My mother began crying.
"Anna, this is your home."
I looked at her.
"Then why did nobody ask me if I was safe before asking whether Derek had paid you?"
She had no answer.
Neither did my father.
I picked up Lily.
She opened her sleepy eyes.
"Mommy?"
"I'm here, baby."
She wrapped both arms around my neck.
And as I carried her toward the door, my father suddenly grabbed my arm.
"Anna, wait."
I froze.
His voice had changed.
"What?"
He stared at my face.
For the first time that night, I saw something that looked like shame.
"You said Derek did this?"
I nodded.
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Then why didn't you tell us?"
I looked into his eyes.
"Because the last time I called you crying, Mom told me I was lucky to have a husband who could provide for the family."
My mother covered her mouth.
I continued.
"You told me to stop making things difficult."
Dad went pale.
"I don't remember that."
"I do."
I opened the door.
Cold December air rushed inside.
Then my father's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His face drained of color.
"Who is it?" Mom asked.
He didn't answer.
He slowly looked at me.
"It's Derek."
I felt Lily's arms tighten around my neck.
My father answered.
And whatever he heard on the other end made him sit down.
"Yes," he whispered.
A pause.
Then:
"Of course."
Another pause.
He looked at me.
"She didn't tell us."
My blood turned cold.
Because suddenly I understood.
Derek hadn't called to apologize.
He hadn't called to ask about his wife.
He hadn't called because he missed Lily.
He had called my father because he wanted something.
And whatever it was, my father looked terrified.
I stepped back inside.
"What did he say?"
Dad slowly lowered the phone.
His eyes met mine.
"He said if you don't come back tonight..."
He stopped.
"Then what?"
My father swallowed.
"He'll make sure none of us ever sees a dollar from him again."
I stared at him.
Then, for the first time in my life, I understood exactly where I stood in my own family.
I wasn't their daughter.
May you like
I was the bridge between them and the money.
And that realization hurt worse than anything Derek had ever done to me.
