Chapter 3: The Rules of Our House
The next morning, I woke up before sunrise.
Not because I was rested.
Because I had spent the entire night awake.
I sat on the couch with the tablet in my hands, replaying every memory I had ignored.
Nia wearing sweaters.
Nia saying she wasn’t hungry.
Nia becoming quieter every month.
I had blamed teenage years.
I had blamed grief.
I had blamed everything except the possibility that my own home wasn’t safe for her.
At 6:15, I heard footsteps.
Nia appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
She looked surprised to see me awake.
“You’re still here.””
The way she said it hurt.
Like she expected me to disappear.
I stood.
“Where else would I go?””
She shrugged.
“Work.””
I walked over slowly.
“I’m taking today off.””
Her eyes widened.
“You can do that?””
“Yes.””
“But you never do.””
That sentence was another wound.
“I should have.””
She looked away.
I wanted to hug her.
But I stopped myself.
Because I realized something important.
For two years, everyone had been telling Nia what she felt.
What she should do.
What she should accept.
I wasn’t going to become another person controlling her.
“Can I ask you something?””
She nodded.
“The bracelet.””
Her face changed.
The silver bracelet from Simone.
She had worn it every day since she was six.
Until suddenly, she didn’t.
“Where is it?””
She looked at the floor.
“Mom took it.””
“When?””
“Last summer.””
“Why?””
Nia hesitated.
“She said I was old enough to stop living in the past.””
I closed my eyes.
That bracelet wasn’t just jewelry.
It was the last thing Simone gave her before she died.
I remembered that hospital room.
I remembered Simone holding Nia’s tiny hand.
I remembered promising I would protect her.
And somehow, I had failed.
“Where is it now?””
“I don’t know.””
Before I could respond, Yolanda entered the room.
“You’re filling her head with nonsense.””
I turned.
“No.””
“Yes.””
She pointed at Nia.
“You are making her think she’s a victim.””
I stared at her.
“She was eating cold rice while everyone else ate dinner.””
“She chose that.””
“No, she didn’t.””
Yolanda’s face hardened.
“You weren’t here.””
The sentence hit me.
Because she was right.
I wasn’t.
But then I noticed something.
A small scratch on her wrist.
Not on Nia.
On Yolanda.
“What happened to your hand?””
She immediately covered it.
“Nothing.””
“Nothing?””
“Yes.””
I watched her carefully.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t trying to keep peace.
I was paying attention.
Later that morning, I took Nia and Zoe to a small diner outside town.
No Yolanda.
No pressure.
Just us.
Zoe dipped a fry into ketchup.
“I’m sorry.””
I looked at her.
“For what?””
“For taking pictures.””
I smiled sadly.
“You did the right thing.””
“But Mom said I was being disloyal.””
Nia reached over and held her sister’s hand.
“You saved me.””
Zoe looked down.
“I was scared.””
“So was I,” Nia admitted.
I looked between them.
Two sisters carrying something they should never have had to carry.
“Why didn’t you tell me together?””
Nia answered.
“Because Mom always knew when I was going to say something.””
“How?””
“She checked my phone.””
My chest tightened.
“She did what?””
Nia looked nervous.
“She said parents are supposed to know everything.””
I pulled out my phone.
“Did she ever threaten you?””
Nia didn’t answer.
That was an answer.
I looked at her.
“Baby.””
She whispered:
“She said if you knew how difficult I was, you would send me away.””
The world went quiet.
Because there are some sentences a father never forgets.
That afternoon, I returned home and went straight to my office.
I searched through old files.
Bills.
Documents.
Anything that might explain what was happening.
Then I found something.
A bank statement.
A charge from six months earlier.
A jewelry store.
I stared at the screen.
Because the amount was exactly the value of Simone’s bracelet.
And the name on the transaction wasn’t Yolanda’s.
It was mine.
May you like
But I had never made that purchase.
And when I opened the attached receipt, I saw who signed it.
