Chapter 2 - Beneath The Family Photo
My father moved faster than I expected.
One moment I was stepping away from the table. The next, his hand clamped onto the front of my hoodie and shoved me back against the wall beneath that smiling Disney photo.
Pain flashed through my skull as the back of my head hit drywall.
Mom screamed my name.
Not to save me.
To stop me from making noise.
“Robert!” she shouted. “Don’t leave marks!”
That sentence cut through the room cleaner than a knife.
Julian stood frozen near the table, one hand wrapped around his glass. For once, he didn’t look smug. He looked scared, but not enough to help.
Dad’s face was inches from mine.
“You think you get to walk out?” he said.
My throat worked against his grip. I could barely breathe, but my hand stayed locked around the strap of my bag.
Inside it was the envelope.
Inside my hoodie pocket was the phone.
Still recording.
“Dad,” Julian said weakly.
“Shut up,” Dad snapped without looking at him.
Mom hurried around the table, her pearls bouncing against her sweater. “Claire, just sign it. Please. You know how he gets.”
You know how he gets.
As if my father’s rage was weather.
As if survival meant carrying an umbrella.
I forced air into my lungs. “Let me go.”
Dad’s eyes hardened. “You were always selfish.”
Selfish.
I had paid Julian’s rent twice. Covered Mom’s credit card when she called it a “temporary cash-flow problem.” Sat through chemo alone because Dad said hospitals made him uncomfortable. Skipped medication once because Julian needed “emergency help” after a bad weekend in Atlantic City.
And still, I was selfish because I had finally chosen myself.
My vision blurred at the edges.
Then a voice came from my pocket.
Clear.
Female.
Calm.
“Claire Bennett, this is Maya Ellison. I am on the recorded line. If you can hear me, emergency services have already been notified.”
Dad froze.
Mom’s mouth fell open.
Julian’s glass slipped from his fingers and hit the tile with a dull crack.
Maya’s voice continued through the speaker. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, you are being recorded. Remove your hands from my client immediately.”
Dad released me like my skin had burned him.
I slid down the wall, coughing, one hand pressed to my chest.
Mom stared at my pocket as if the phone had betrayed the family.
Julian whispered, “What the hell is this?”
May you like
I lifted my face, tears spilling before I could stop them.
“It’s evidence,” I said.
