Chapter 1 - The Paint on Her Fingers
Gary slammed the leather belt onto the kitchen table directly in front of Ethan.
The crack made the nine-year-old flinch against the counter.
Broken glass glittered beside scattered crayons. Water ran toward the edge of the table. A puddle of bright green poster paint spread across the tile.
“You’re cleaning every inch before you eat.”
Gary grabbed Ethan’s wooden chair and hurled it sideways.
The chair struck the cabinet and fell.
Ethan covered his face.
Then Brooke came through the kitchen doorway.
She saw the belt.
Saw Ethan crying.
Saw Gary advancing.
She kicked the belt across the floor and stepped between them.
“Back away from my brother.”
Gary stared at the seventeen-year-old.
Brooke did not move.
Behind her, Ethan grabbed the back of her gray hoodie.
“I didn’t spill it.”
His voice was so small that Brooke almost answered automatically.
I know.
Then she saw the green paint.
Not only on the floor.
On her mother’s fingers.
Linda stood in the doorway wearing a cream blouse, watching as calmly as if she had walked in during a television commercial.
Brooke looked from the paint to her mother.
“You told him Ethan did this?”
Linda reached for a dish towel.
She slowly wiped her fingers clean.
No denial.
Brooke turned toward Gary.
His anger disappeared.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
He looked at Linda.
Linda looked back.
Brooke understood before either of them spoke.
This was not the first lie.
And Gary knew.
Then the front door shook.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Linda’s composure vanished.
Gary went pale.
A man shouted from the porch.
“Linda! Open the door!”
Brooke recognized the voice.
Her mother did too.
“I know what you did to those kids!”
Linda stepped toward Brooke.
“Don’t open that door.”
Brooke stared at her.
For months, Linda had told her that Uncle Mark was dramatic, bitter, and determined to interfere in their lives.
Brooke had finally stopped believing her.
She had texted him before Gary came home.
Come at five. Don’t call first.
The pounding came again.
Brooke walked past her mother.
Linda grabbed her wrist.
“Brooke.”
Brooke pulled free.
May you like
For the first time, Linda looked frightened of her own daughter.
Brooke opened the door.
