Chapter 7: This Time, I Won’t Back Down

6

Back home, I baked a few potatoes and planned to make hash browns for dinner.

The oven warmed the chilly kitchen, filling it with the earthy scent of roasting potatoes. I mashed them with a fork, mixing in the last of the margarine, and set the pan on the stove to crisp. The smell of burnt margarine hung in the air, and I realized I’d left the pan on the stove too long. Figures.

All these years when Charles wasn’t home, I had to take care of the kids and also worked as a pharmacy assistant at the local clinic.

I’d taken the job out of necessity, not ambition, but it gave me a sense of pride. Mrs. Allen, the head pharmacist, always said I had a good memory for prescriptions and a gentle touch with the elderly customers. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills.

Because I was educated and quick with my hands, even if I sometimes needed to take time off for family matters, the clinic never let me go.

In a town where jobs were scarce and layoffs common, I counted myself lucky. It was nice to be valued, even if it wasn’t at home.

I used this money to support the two kids.

Every paycheck went straight to groceries, clothes, school supplies—always stretching, always just enough. There were no luxuries, but we got by.

Although I’d decided to leave the two kids to Charles, before he returned, I still felt responsible for taking good care of them.

Motherhood wasn’t something you could just turn off. Even as I plotted my escape, I couldn’t help but pack their lunches with extra care, or tuck them in at night with a kiss on the forehead.

These days, my son was at my in-laws’ house, so I only made dinner for my daughter and myself.

The house was quieter now. I missed David’s laughter, even his sulking. The emptiness was a reminder of all the things I’d lost, but also everything I stood to gain.

I waited until after nine o’clock and still didn’t see Melissa come over. I thought she was shameless and was about to call the sheriff the next day.

I rehearsed what I’d say, picturing the look on Sheriff Callahan’s face when I told him everything. For once, I wasn’t afraid of making a scene.

Unexpectedly, after ten o’clock, the door suddenly opened from outside.

The sound startled me. I grabbed my robe, peeking out from behind the door. It was late, too late for visitors—unless something had happened.

I put on my robe and came out, only to see a much younger Charles carrying a bundle, entering with Melissa.

They looked like a picture out of a past I barely recognized—Charles strong and broad-shouldered, Melissa hovering at his side, her eyes darting nervously.

Melissa saw me looking over and smiled.

It was the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She glanced at Charles, then back at me, as if waiting for my reaction.

"Helen, I forgot to tell you, Charles came back early today."

Her voice was light, almost cheerful, but I could hear the tremor beneath it. She was trying too hard to sound casual.

She paused, then added, "You don’t need to cook anymore, Charles already ate at my place."

That stung more than I’d admit. I’d been waiting all evening, keeping his plate warm, hoping for a shred of gratitude. Instead, he’d spent the night next door.

Seeing my face darken, she hurriedly glanced at Charles and explained in a fluster,

"Helen, don’t get the wrong idea, it’s just that Adam hasn’t seen his uncle for a long time, and when he saw him come back, he wouldn’t let go."

She wrung her hands, her excuses tumbling out like dominoes. I wondered if she actually believed them herself.

"Charles also loves the kid, so he stayed at my place until now. Please, please don’t…"

Her words trailed off, eyes wide and pleading. I could tell she was desperate to avoid a scene.

I looked at Charles without saying a word.

He met my gaze, unflinching, as if daring me to challenge him. There was an arrogance to him I hadn’t noticed before, or maybe I’d just grown tired of ignoring it.

Charles put down his things and comforted the nervous Melissa, "It’s fine, Helen isn’t a petty person."

His tone was dismissive, like he was explaining away a barking dog. I bit back a retort, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"You go back first, or Adam will make a fuss if he doesn’t see you."

He spoke to her gently, and I felt the old jealousy rise up, familiar and bitter.

Melissa glanced at me, hesitated, then said, "Charles, if Helen makes a scene later, please don’t…"

She looked at me, then at Charles, before leaving.

Her retreat was quick, almost a run. I watched the door swing shut behind her, the silence settling over us like a heavy blanket.

I turned to go back to my room.

My mind was spinning, every muscle tense. I needed space, needed to remember why I was doing this.

Charles called out, "Let’s talk."

My stomach twisted. All my life, those words meant I was about to get blamed for something I didn’t do.

His voice was calm, measured. It sounded like a command, not a request.

I paused and nodded.

I sat down across from him at the kitchen table, ready to hear whatever excuse he’d come up with this time.

7

Across the table, we sat facing each other.

The old Formica table between us was scarred with years of family dinners and spilled milk, a silent witness to all our arguments. I traced a groove in the surface with my thumb, refusing to meet his eyes.

I watched Charles stay silent for a long time. Just as I was about to get up and leave, he looked up.

He cleared his throat, jaw working, like he was chewing over the right words. I waited, my patience thinning with every tick of the wall clock.

"Helen, what the hell were you thinking, embarrassing Melissa like that?"

The accusation came out sharp, no hint of understanding in his tone. My breath caught in my throat. Even now, after everything, he was siding with her.

I thought he was silent because he was thinking about how to explain sending money and vouchers to Melissa all these years.

I’d hoped, just for a second, that maybe he’d apologize. But hope is a dangerous thing, and Charles never changed.

Unexpectedly, he was questioning me.

My heart sank. He wasn’t sorry—he was angry I’d broken the peace, shattered the illusion he’d worked so hard to maintain.

Before I could speak, Charles continued, "Do you know what people will think of your sister-in-law after what you said today?"

He leaned forward, voice low and dangerous. He wasn’t worried about my pain, or our children’s hunger—he was worried about Melissa’s reputation. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. This time, I wouldn’t back down. Not for him, not for anyone.

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice steady as stone. “Maybe it’s time you start worrying about the right person.”