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Hope’s energy preceded her as she came back downstairs.
Brayleigh, hiked high on Hope’s hip, struggled to catch her breath. Her little face, an angry red and bathed in tears, pressed against her mother’s chest.
Hope’s eyes. The expression on her face.
Fuck.
Her eyes.
I reached for my control before turning back to Melissa, my voice glacial. “Get out.”
She laughed in disbelief. “What?”
“Get. Out.” I whispered, my voice failing me.
Tears sprang to her eyes, her other hand wrapped around my arm, squeezing gently.
My stomach knotted.
She tipped her chin back and beseeched me, “What was I supposed to do?”
I grit my teeth, my grip on my temper slipping.
Changing tactics, she smiled up at me, and teased, “You’re such a good dad, you old softie.”
Her visage morphed. Or my eyes played tricks on me because it wasn’t just Melissa standing in front of me. It was Julianna as well. And my stepmother. All superimposed over Melissa’s merciless face.
Trapped.
Locked in the closet.
Closing my eyes tight to shut out the dark.
Waiting to be picked up, long after the time I should have been.
Hiding in my room.
Eighteen years old and hiding in my room to avoid the sting of her words. The fear there might be more than a little truth to them.
Missing meals when my dad wasn’t home.
Segregated from my sister and my brothers.
My chest expanded with fury, my legs quaked, and I roared, “You were supposed to take care of her!”
My voice echoed off the walls.
Melissa jumped back.
Sia jerked awake with a frightened wail.
Brayleigh, who had started to calm, began to cry again in earnest.
With shaking hands, I moved to place Sia down on the floor. The world slowed. Pixelated. I didn’t trust myself to hold her.
“Give her to me,” Hope demanded, her voice hitching as she strode toward me.
Brayleigh climbed up Hope’s chest in an effort to get away from me.
