Chapter 6: Rising From Ruin

After the photos, the photographer asked if I wanted a family photo, he could take it for me. My dad, eyes red, shook his head. "No, this achievement is hers alone, I don’t deserve to share her glory."

His voice was thick with regret. I looked at him, unsure how to feel. Part of me wanted him to stand beside me, to claim me as his own. Another part understood why he couldn’t.

As he spoke, my mother walked onto the stage, apparently wanting to take a photo with me. Seeing her, I felt sick and immediately put down the plaque and walked off the stage to stand next to my dad, holding it up.

Her face crumpled, a mix of anger and disbelief. I kept my chin high, refusing to give her another piece of myself.

The flash went off, and my mother, left behind by me, looked like she had swallowed something disgusting. "Quinn Delaney, what do you mean? I raised you with so much hardship, and you go stick to someone who never raised you a day! Are you shameless?"

Her words were tired, recycled from a thousand arguments before. I’d heard it all before. I barely heard them anymore.

She had cursed me like this for over a decade. I was numb. The only feeling was that she never had any new lines, always the same old phrases.

I almost laughed. Even in her anger, she was predictable.

But my dad was furious. "Say one more word and see what happens!"

His voice was sharp, protective. For the first time, he stood between me and my mother, a barrier I never knew I needed. He listened.

"You!"

My mother’s arrogance vanished, her face deflated and she couldn’t say a word.

She looked smaller than I’d ever seen her. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

My dad originally didn’t want to take photos, but to spite my mother, he dragged me onto the stage and took a bunch, then deliberately showed off in front of her, making her face turn white.

We smiled for the camera, his arm around my shoulders. For once, I felt proud to be his daughter. I was proud.

But my mother still didn’t leave, standing in the auditorium as a spectacle until everyone left and I packed up the $3,000 cash on the stage.

She hovered in the doorway, her eyes following me. I ignored her, focusing on the future waiting just outside those doors.

"Quinn Delaney, how long are you going to make a scene? You embarrassed me at the police station yesterday, and didn’t come home all night. I didn’t even scold you, what more do you want? Come home with me!"

Her voice was pleading now, tinged with desperation. I stood tall, refusing to be pulled back in.

"Why go with you? To take care of you and Hailey, two useless people, for all your needs? Or to let you two use me as a punching bag, bully me at will, and make my right ear deaf too?"

My words were sharp, but I didn’t care. I was done being her scapegoat.

"Quinn Delaney, I am your mother!"

"Get lost."

The words tasted sweet on my tongue. I turned away, leaving her behind for good.

After leaving school, my mother was nowhere to be seen. My dad took me to a diner, and inside were my grandma, Aunt Melissa, and my two brothers.

The diner smelled like coffee and fried chicken, the booths worn but comfortable. My family sat around a table, smiles wide and genuine. For the first time, I felt like I belonged. I belonged.

My dad said that after learning I got first in the county, he told Aunt Melissa and grandma, wanting to celebrate with a family meal. He hadn’t done much for me over the years, so today was a reunion. I nodded and sat with him.

Aunt Melissa slid a plate of fries in front of me, her eyes soft. My brothers grinned, raising their sodas in a toast. I blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the warmth.

During the meal, Aunt Melissa had my brothers bring sodas to toast me, teaching them to say, "Congratulations to sis for getting first in the county." I clinked glasses with them and took two red bills from my bonus, giving one to each brother.

My brothers’ faces lit up, their excitement contagious. Aunt Melissa smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. For a moment, we were just a regular family, celebrating a small victory.

The older brother, eleven, didn’t take it. The younger, six, wanted to but looked at Aunt Melissa. Aunt Melissa asked what I was doing. I said I hadn’t given my brothers anything for years, and now that I had income, I wanted to make them happy.

She nodded, her expression softening. My brothers looked at me with something like awe. I felt a warmth spread through my chest.

After that, I took twenty bills for myself, then put the remaining two stacks in front of my dad for safekeeping.

He looked surprised, then smiled, tucking the money into his jacket. I trusted him, for the first time in years. I trusted him.

Yesterday, when my dad and my mother argued at the police station, I noticed that he originally gave me $150 per month in child support, then $300 per month in junior high, totaling about $30,000 over the years.

The numbers rattled in my head, a reminder of all the things I’d missed out on. But now, it didn’t matter. I had my own money, my own future.

But I also heard Aunt Melissa complain that the family was tight.

She was practical, always counting pennies, making sure everyone had enough. I respected that, even if it meant we went without sometimes.

My dad frowned, about to say something, but Aunt Melissa spoke first.

Her voice was firm, no-nonsense. My dad nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. He listened.

My dad smiled and agreed.

He squeezed my hand under the table, his grip warm and reassuring. For the first time, I felt safe.

After dinner, as we left, Aunt Melissa suddenly handed me a boxed smartphone. I was stunned and tried to return it to my dad, but he smiled and said, "Take it, it’s Aunt Melissa’s apology."

The phone was sleek and shiny, a world away from the battered flip phone I used to borrow from Mrs. Patterson. I stared at it, unsure what to say. It was mine.

Aunt Melissa didn’t speak, glared at my dad, then awkwardly chased after my younger brother. My older brother quietly explained, "Sis, my mom is just embarrassed."