Chapter 7: Breaking Point

But the comments came too late.

The knot in my stomach tightened. My mouth went dry. I’d already made my move.

I’d already taken out the $10 I’d earned and whispered to my mom,

I pressed the bill into her hand, my voice trembling, “Mom, don’t talk about being a rich girl anymore. Just keep it in your heart. I’m helping you find your family. In less than two weeks, I’ll reunite you with grandpa.”

With a bang, my dad kicked the door open.

The door crashed against the wall, the sound sharp as a gunshot. I froze, my whole body tensed for impact.

With the comments’ late warning, my heart nearly stopped.

I could feel his eyes on me, colder than the Chicago wind in January.

“You little brat, what did you just say? Looking for relatives?”

His voice was deadly, quieter than usual. That was always the worst.

My dad glared at me like he wanted to eat me alive, even glancing at the kitchen knife on the counter.

My eyes darted to the blade, my mind racing. Was this the night he finally snapped for good?

[It’s over. Charlie finally saw our comments, but now it’s over, sigh.]

[Run! If you have to, grab the knife and fight back! You’re a minor—what are you afraid of?]

I looked at the kitchen knife, my heart pounding.

The handle seemed to glow in the dim light, a terrible temptation. But I couldn’t—my hands shook too much.

Then I swallowed hard and told my dad,

“Mom keeps saying she’s a rich girl, wants me to help her find her dad. I said, what’s the point in looking for relatives? You’re dreaming again. Aren’t our relatives right here?”

My words came out rushed, desperate. I hoped he’d believe me, or at least get bored and walk away.

My dad immediately exploded, rushed in, and started beating and kicking again. I threw myself over my mom, no idea how many hits I took.

I wrapped my arms around her, taking the blows as best I could. The world blurred to pain and shouting. Eventually, he stormed out, leaving us crumpled on the tile.

After venting, my dad suddenly picked up the $10 from the floor and coldly asked where I got it.

He dangled the bill in front of my face, eyes narrowed. I could barely catch my breath, but I forced myself to answer.

My face went pale. When I was beaten, the money must have fallen out of my torn pocket.

I could only grit my teeth and say I found it.

My voice was barely a whisper. Lying felt like swallowing glass, but there was no other way.

My dad slapped me again.

The slap made my ears ring. My head spun, but I held back my tears. I was used to this by now.

“Next time you find money, give it to me right away! Hear me?!”

His words echoed through the kitchen. I nodded quickly, wishing I could disappear.

Ignoring the ringing in my ears, I nodded quickly.

His eyes flickered to the kitchen knife again. For a second, I thought he might actually use it.